


(fate decides) the roads you’re going to find

by texaswatermelon



Series: and you go (and you go evermore) [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Beth!quisitor, Circle Mage Bethany Hawke, F/F, Happy Ending, Inquisitor Bethany Hawke, Minor Female Hawke/Isabela (Dragon Age), Purple Hawke (Dragon Age), blatant disregard of josephine's in-game romance arc, condensed slow burn, mentioned Dorian Pavus/Iron Bull, mentioned Leliana/Female Amell, minor Cullen Rutherford/Lace Harding, ride or die for ella surviving the events of kirkwall and following bethany anywhere, this is not a retelling of the game; it focuses on the in-between parts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-29 17:51:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20800526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/texaswatermelon/pseuds/texaswatermelon
Summary: Later, Bethany will look back on this and realize just how much of her sister is really in her; how those words are an echo of the ones spoken to her just before Hawke left for the Deep Roads. But fate rarely announces itself before it arrives, and for now, she is oblivious to it even as it settles under her skin.





	(fate decides) the roads you’re going to find

**Author's Note:**

> as mentioned in the tags, i did my best not to rehash every in-game event so as not to write the most boring story on planet earth. this story focuses on the things that happen in between in-game quests. the blatant comma abuse in this is out of hand, but i'm not that sorry.
> 
> title from _amor fati_ by washed out

The invitation arrives in a gilded envelope emblazoned with a sunburst in the top left corner. It’s addressed to Lady Bethany Hawke, House Amell of Kirkwall, Leader of the Free Mages of the Free Marches. Inside is more sunburst stationary, written in some of the most effortless calligraphy known to man. It reads:  
  


_Lady Hawke,_

_Recent times have brought hardship and strife among the Maker’s most faithful, both possessing and devoid of magic. Such has been His will, but in His grace, He empowers and encourages us to set aside our differences in search of the peace and love that He wishes for all of us._

_In an effort to foster such peace, Her Benevolence, Divine Justinia V, requests that you might lend your voice to a Conclave hosted by Her Holiness at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, final resting place of the Bride of the Maker, with the intent of reaching a state of understanding and compromise on the subject of magic. The Divine promises a safe space for all attendees to share their insight and experiences._

_Instructions for responding are included within. Should you choose to attend, we wish you a safe journey and look forward to making your acquaintance in person._

_May the Maker guide your steps in His wisdom and light._

_Sincerely (on behalf of Her Perfection, the Most Holy, Divine Justinia V),_

_Lady Josephine Cherette Montilyet_   
  


“Well, she certainly knows how to make an impression,” Ella says, fingers tracing across the various seals, stamps, and embossings on the parchment.

She’s grown by leaps and bounds since their days in the Circle, more poised and graceful than Bethany ever expected. Delicate, but strong. The one reminder from Kirkwall that doesn’t make Bethany want to vomit.

“What a load of shite,” Teryn scoffs. He’s perched against the old, rickety desk in the drawing room—a tall, willowy elf that they picked up as they passed through Ostwick. Like Bethany, he went to the Circle later than most. He can be brash and distrustful, but he’s smart and he leads well. “Were they paying her a sovereign for each fanciful name she could fit in for the Divine? This is a trap.”

Maybe. Hopefully not, but there’s always a chance. According to Varric, they’ve been chasing after Hawke for months now, trying to track her down. Maybe this is just the latest scheme in that endeavor. Still…

“I can’t sit around and preach about finding a better way if I’m not willing to take a risk to do so,” Bethany says.

Sebastian has been good, giving them a place to stay in Starkhaven while they try to figure some things out. But their numbers have only grown as refugees from the Circle who have no interest in blood and warfare seek out a safer place to hide. They’ll attract unwanted attention soon enough. Bethany is not a leader, no matter what the invitation suggests, but she does feel responsible for these people.

She can already guess at the next response before it even leaves Ella’s mouth.

“We’ll come with you,” she says, and Teryn nods in agreement.

Bethany loves them both more than she can say. “I need you both here to look after the others.” _I need you both to stay safe_. “With any luck, the trip won’t be long and I’ll be back with hopeful news.”

Later, Bethany will look back on this and realize just how much of her sister is really in her; how those words are an echo of the ones spoken to her just before Hawke left for the Deep Roads. But fate rarely announces itself before it arrives, and for now, she is oblivious to it even as it settles under her skin.

xx

There’s nothing really inviting about the town of Haven, though the Divine’s agents have certainly done everything in their power to make it so. Stewards usher Bethany into the Chantry there, a check in point for visitors of the Conclave. A woman in brilliant gold and rich blue greets her with a clipboard. She has smooth, dark skin that reminds Bethany painfully of Isabela, and when she looks up from her papers, Bethany takes notice of her startlingly bright storm-colored eyes.

“Ah, Lady Hawke,” the woman says with a pleasant smile and a strong Antivan accent, flashing two rows of perfectly white teeth.

It should probably disturb her more that this woman knows her name on sight, but all she can think about is how much she hates that title.

“Just her sister, I’m afraid,” Bethany replies, which causes the woman’s smile to falter slightly as her brow furrows.

“But you are Bethany Hawke, are you not?” she asks, voice laced with concern, as if she’s quickly trying to determine whether or not the Champion has another sister no one’s ever heard of.

And of course, it was a stupid thing to say. Her sister’s influence, no doubt. Hawke has always been too witty for her own good, but on Bethany’s tongue, the cleverness falls flat.

The woman’s mouth quirks up in the tiniest hint of a smile, and she saves Bethany the embarrassment of trying to explain herself. “You do not wish to be addressed by the title afforded you by your station.”

“I’ve just never actually been a Lady,” Bethany says apologetically, without even knowing what she would be apologizing for. It’s not like they ever called her Lady Hawke in the Circle. “You can call me Bethany, if you’d like.”

“Very well, Bethany. I am Lady Montilyet,” the woman says, recovering quickly. And it makes perfect sense, now that Bethany can put a face to the name of the woman who wrote those invitations. “I am glad you decided to attend. Your experience as a mage and as a survivor of the Kirkwall Rebellion makes you a valuable voice in discussions such as these.”

“In my experience, there’s little victory in war,” Bethany replies.

Lady Montilyet inclines her head thoughtfully. Bethany finds herself unhelpfully distracted by the color of her eyes again. “An undervalued sentiment, I’m afraid. Well, I do hope that you enjoy your stay here. Should you find that you require anything at all, please do not hesitate to ask. We will do our best to accommodate your request.”

“It was nice meeting you, Lady Montilyet,” Bethany says, taking her leave.

The smile returns. “Good day to you, Bethany Hawke.”

xx

The absence of memories that should otherwise exist is incredibly suffocating. Bethany tries to remember, wracks her brain over and over until the pressure at the back of her eyes makes her want to scream. The mark on her left hand glows faintly and irritates her in a way that she can’t describe—not quite pain and not really an itch, but something still uncomfortable.

At present, she sits with Josephine in the overcrowded, stiflingly hot Chantry. The ambassador has been rattling off a list of people dozens long, all potential allies for the Inquisition. And apparently they need allies. Between the hole in the sky and the Chantry at their throats, they must find some way to gather enough power to close the Breach. Bethany can scarcely find an ounce of concentration in her for this, too occupied with thoughts of how her sister is going to react when she hears about all of this and how she needs to get a message to Ella and Teryn and _how did I get here_? And none of that is to speak of the larger atrocities, like the crater at the Temple of Sacred Ashes filled with twisted and burned bodies, the loss of the Divine, or the reports of Fade rifts tearing up the better part of Thedas.

It’s enough to set her teeth on edge, and Josephine’s steady overflow of information is not helping her mood. She has witnessed Leliana’s gut wrenching crisis of faith and Cullen’s foul moods, yet somehow Josephine manages to remain focused and composed despite the world falling apart at their feet. The pressure of it snaps something within her like a thread pulled too taut.

“Andraste’s ass,” she mutters, interrupting Josephine’s litany of suggestions as she rubs a hand over her brow. “How can you just sit here and—”

It’s crass and rude and she stops herself before she goes too far. Josephine is not to blame, and Bethany already feels the guilt rising like bile in her stomach. She watches shocked grey eyes turn to stone, full lips press thin and strong jaw tighten noticeably.

“You must think me cold,” Josephine says stiffly.

Bethany presses her thumb and forefinger into her eyes in a futile attempt to relieve the pressure there. Wonders if she’ll find some semblance of tact while she’s at it. “No, I don’t think that, Lady Montilyet. I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that and I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“What happened at the Conclave haunts me.” Josephine’s fingers are clenched so tightly around her quill that Bethany fears it will snap in half. “All those lives lost…I keep looking up at the Breach and wondering how much time we have left. Sleep eludes me, as I’m sure it does for many these days. But I do not possess the power to close rifts as you do. I am no soldier or spy. This is all that I have to offer, and so I throw myself into it in the hopes that it will make even an ounce of difference. And so that I don’t have to think about how terrifying everything is right now.”

“The Chantry would’ve had me hanged by now if it weren’t for you,” Bethany says.

She should be better at this by now. It’s not as if the Hawkes are strangers to tragedy. But Bethany feels ill-equipped to have the world on her shoulders. Hawke’s have always been broader, more fit to carry the weight.

Josephine manages a small smirk at that. “Many people are frightened. I’m doing my best to convince them to put their faith in you. The work that you’re doing out in the field is helping.” She glances down at the mark on Bethany’s hand, a mixture of curiosity and concern tugging at her eyebrows. “I haven’t thought to ask you how you’re feeling, having to bear that mark.”

The ambassador forgives too easily, but Bethany doesn’t say that. Her life has changed in ways that she almost cannot comprehend. When the reality of it sank in, she cried in Varric’s lap until her throat was raw. Leliana happened upon them by accident, swooping in to collect Bethany in her arms at the sight of Varric helplessly stroking her hair while she sobbed. Her hushed whispers at Bethany’s ear calmed her eventually, but the weight of this all remains immeasurable.

“I spent half of my life hiding in the shadows,” Bethany says to Josephine now that she has the words to describe it. “All I ever wanted was to be normal. I prayed to the Maker endlessly to take my magic away. Now I can’t step one foot out the door without everyone turning to stare at me. They see this blighted mark on my hand and expect me to have all the answers.”

Josephine frowns and reaches out—hesitantly, like she’s afraid of being too forward. “May I?” she asks, before cradling Bethany’s hand in her own and gently tracing over the mark with perfectly manicured nails. Her touch is like a whisper, but startling all the same. Has anyone ever touched her this carefully before? Bethany can’t remember. “Does it cause you pain?” Josephine says quietly, gazing at it in wonder.

“No, but I can feel the magic of it wedged under my skin. It’s foreign and sticky, like a glove that you can’t take off,” Bethany says.

“It is a heavy burden that you bear,” Josephine says, and then she releases Bethany’s hand and folds her own in her lap. “But no one expects you to have the answers, Bethany. People look to you because you hold the key to closing the rifts, and that gives them hope. Sometimes a small spark of hope is the difference between victory and disaster. For the rest, you have Leliana, and Commander Cullen, and Seeker Pentaghast. And you have me. If there is anything that I can do to ease your burden, you have only to ask.”

Incredibly kind words from a woman that Bethany was being an ass to only moments ago, but Josephine is all grace and silks and poise when it matters most. Bethany was never allowed to be, but she can try.

“Thank you, Lady Montilyet.”

“Please,” Josephine says, holding up a hand, “if I am to call you by first name, then I insist you do the same.”

“Josephine, then,” Bethany says with a small smile. “Now, tell me again about the Duke of Valmont.”

xx

The mages from Redcliffe settle in. One day at a time, the world is changing at Bethany’s command. She has never wanted this, but she shoulders hardship as she has always done. And people, as _they _have always done, make their opinions about her choices known.

Vivienne comes to her with condescension and concern, speaking of the dangers of vagrant rebel mages and the need to train new Templars to control them. Bethany is dumbfounded first, then furious. She thinks of Ella and the fate that would have befallen her at the hands of Ser Alrik if not for Hawke’s interference. She dreams of the horrors of the Kirkwall Rebellion still.

Admittedly, there are better ways to handle this, but Bethany doesn’t know them now. She spits venom back at the First Enchanter; accuses her of valuing power more than safety or people. Vivienne remains composed, but the steel behind her eyes tells a different story. Bethany is likely making a mistake, but what’s one more burden among thousands?

Josephine saves her under the guise of requiring the Herald’s presence. She takes Bethany into her office and offers her tea in a fine silver service, something spicy and aromatic that warms her chest just from the scent. Bethany leans against the wall next to Josephine’s desk and takes a sip, tries to calm her nerves and stop the cup from shaking in her hands.

“Is everything alright?” Josephine asks, concern etched into her brow. “That conversation seemed unpleasant.”

“It was,” Bethany mutters. “It seems that I can add Madame de Fer to the growing list of people who are unhappy about my decision to ally with the mages.”

“Ah,” Josephine says carefully, gently fussing with the braid at the back of her head. Bethany watches and wonders what that hair looks like when it’s down. Her own is an unkempt mess of too-long curls now. “It is a sensitive topic, of course.”

“I’ve seen the worst of Templars and mages at each other’s throats,” Bethany says quietly, refocusing her attention on her tea cup. “How can people call a mage the Herald of Andraste if they use her name to condemn my people in the very same breath?”

“Perhaps this will be an opportunity to change the way that people view mages,” Josephine says hopefully.

“Perhaps,” Bethany muses, but she doesn’t have much faith in that ideal. Still, it means something that Josephine cares. Especially when Bethany can’t even agree with a fellow mage.

Of course, now that she’s removed from the heat of the conversation, Bethany feels remorseful for how it went. It’s not as though Vivienne’s concerns are unfounded—scared, untrained, or leaderless mages can be incredibly dangerous for all of them—but her approach leaves something to be desired. Even Cullen supports Bethany’s decision, in the end.

Bethany sighs and slumps further against the wall. She could use a good nap, but sleep is hard to come by these days, what with demons basically crossing the Veil whenever they please. “I don’t want to fight with Vivienne. I know she’s a good ally.”

“She is certainly well connected, and an accomplished player of the Game,” Josephine agrees. “However, you must be able to trust the people fighting at your side. If you are unable to come to an accord with her, I might be able to find a way to ensure her continued support without her immediate presence here in Haven.”

The wheels turn in Josephine’s head as she concocts a plan, plain for all the world to see in the sturdy set of her jaw and crease on her brow. There’s something magnificent about watching her mind weave together a political plan as delicate and artful as needlework. Bethany is momentarily mesmerized by it until she remembers herself and shakes her head.

“You’d get rid of her just like that?” she asks.

Josephine replies, “If that is your wish,” and it’s so simple that Bethany can only stare until Josephine finally notices and takes pity on her with gentle eyes and the sympathetic set of her mouth. “You alone bear the burden of the mark, Bethany. While we do not expect you to make every decision, we do respect your judgement. Leliana, Cullen, and I have already agreed—you are not just some tool with which to close the Breach. You are an equal among us and we are ready to support you.”

It doesn’t make any sense. Cassandra loves to say that the Maker chose her to bear the mark and save the world. But if he did, Bethany fears that he’s made a grave mistake. And now the advisors are following suit.

“I’m not sure if that’s right,” Bethany says, head full of doubt and chest full of fear, “but thank you, I suppose. I’ll do my best.”

“That is all we can ask of anyone,” Josephine replies amicably.

In truth, they’re asking far more of her than that, but it’s not as if any of them have a choice. It’s either survive or don’t, and Bethany hasn’t managed to give up just yet. In the face of that, her current dilemma seems simple.

“Don’t worry about Vivienne. I’ll figure out a way to make it right.”

At the twinkle in Josephine’s eyes, Bethany realizes that she was led to this conclusion all along. Josephine truly is a master at what she does, but in this case, Bethany doesn’t actually mind being played.

xx

Victory celebrations, as it turns out, are every bit as wild and recklessly mirthful as any novel would have you believe. Someone found fireworks and has been launching them towards the stars for going on ten minutes now. And Bethany cannot even fathom just _where_ all of this ale is coming from.

“You know,” Varric says, bumping his shoulder against her hip, “I’m pretty sure this makes you a bigger hero than Hawke.”

Below them, Sera is riding atop The Iron Bull’s shoulders as he charges through the camp. Her laughter rings through the air, almost loud enough to eclipse the periodic sound of the fireworks launching.

“Heroic competitions in my family usually only lead to bloodshed and death,” Bethany reminds him. She’s not trying to be sour—after all, the sky is finally mended, and that’s what they’ve all been scrambling for these last weeks. But the scar that lingers is a sobering reminder of just how close they all came to destruction. The anxiety has yet to leave Bethany’s chest.

“You saved the world, Sunshine,” Varric reminds her. “Enjoy this night. You’ve earned it. We all have.”

She offers him a smile, and that seems to appease him. He wanders off to join the rest of the Chargers, possibly to wrangle them into a game of Diamondback that they’ll all lose.

A few meters away, Dorian and Leliana chat. Bethany doesn’t believe for a second that Leliana is not still on guard for any sign of trouble, but her shoulders have relaxed more than Bethany has seen since she arrived at Haven, and when she laughs at something that Dorian says, it’s a comforting reminder of Bethany’s youth. Josephine is beside them, and when Bethany catches her eye, there’s a mirth there that hits her chest like an arrow and spreads like an infection. Josephine smiles, wide and bright, and Bethany is helpless not to mirror it.

It’s a fragment of a promise, a thread of hope for a better way forward after this. Something to grasp and hold on to. For the first time in what feels like forever, Bethany sees a future beyond the present moment. A home for herself and maybe a life free of running away and hiding. A chance to rest.

The watchman’s horn sounds and the thread snaps as Bethany’s gaze is torn away to look out upon the approaching army and the creature that leads it. A pale boy in a wide-brimmed hat bangs at the gates to warn them, speaks a name that makes Bethany’s heart seize in her chest.

“Fuck,” Varric growls, and slams his fist into a fence post, but the anger is just a way to cover the panic that she knows is rising in his chest.

After that, it’s chaos. But that, at least, is familiar. The flow of magic through her veins, the twirl of her staff as she directs the force of it, the feeling of companions fighting at her back—these things are etched into her muscles like history on a stone tablet. She cuts down corrupted Templars as readily as she ever handled the scum of Kirkwall while Varric, Dorian, and Sera usher some of the townspeople away from the danger of burning buildings and explosives.

They finally make it to the Chantry, where a dying Roderick holds the key to their escape. And Bethany understands very suddenly the true cost of bearing the mark. _You alone bear the burden_, Josephine had said, and that is more true now than ever before. Much like her magic, Bethany did not ask for this, but she will shoulder it just the same.

Leliana meets her gaze, pale eyes swimming deeply with regret. There’s no need to exchange words. Bethany still remembers Leliana from the future, a spymaster who had been tortured until she was nothing but a withered husk of bitter tar and hatred, and yet still sacrificed herself for Bethany to press forward. She knows what Leliana won’t say: that she would switch places with Bethany in a heartbeat if that were an option.

“Get them to safety,” Bethany orders, voice so steady that she surprises even herself. Leliana simply nods and turns away to help Cullen herd people through the back.

Josephine catches Bethany by the wrist, eyes wide and wild and terrified. _Has she ever been faced with the promise of destruction like this before?_ Bethany wonders.

For once, words seem to fail the ambassador, but eventually she finds her voice. “Please do be careful,” she says shakily, and Bethany realizes then that they are friends.

Bethany can’t promise careful when she intends to walk a straight line towards almost certain death, so she gives Josephine’s hand a gentle squeeze and turns away to go face a familiar enemy.

xx

The thing about victories is that there’s always an _after_. Either you die in the battle, or you’re left to clean up when it’s over. The aftermath of this victory, if it can even be called that, finds Bethany recovering from a touch of frostbite and various other injuries in a hastily-constructed tent while she listens to her advisors scream at each other over a fire. The townspeople from Haven cower together against the cold as they try to overcome the shock of losing their homes and the startling realization that closing the Breach was apparently only the first battle and not the last.

Bethany remembers staring Corypheus down, remembers how he sneered at her and growled _ah, the Hawke again_ with disinterest, like she was little more than a fly pestering him at dinner. If anything, he was the pest, wreaking havoc on her life and the entire world years after she’d watched him die by her own hand. She thinks she said as much to him, but between the terror of facing down that massive dragon and the pain he inflicted on her through the anchor, much of their encounter is a blur.

She expected to die. Instead, she’s left to consider exactly how to defeat an enemy who is apparently immortal while a camp full of faithful look to her as if she is their savior. Technically, she did save them, but it was only by chance and a moment of sheer idiotic bravery. She’s not the hero they’re looking for, not the prophet they think she is when they kneel to her and sing like she’s Andraste reincarnated.

Among the voices, Leliana’s rings out the most clear and true. Bethany remembers hearing Leliana sing in the Chantry at Lothering like it was yesterday, feels the pang of longing in her heart for simpler times. Back then, she thought her life was so tragic. She could never have known what the Maker had in store for her all these years later. Leliana meets her gaze across the fire and her blue eyes hold steady and sure. _I don’t know if you are the Maker’s chosen_, they say, _but you are who we need, regardless. You must be strong for us yet._

After, Solas speaks to her about the nature of the anchor and tells her about a place to the north that he thinks will suit their needs. Bethany wants nothing more than a moment to catch her breath, so she walks the perimeter of their camp and silently prays. It comes out as more of a litany of accusations toward the Maker, so she tries to redirect her mind and wonders instead what Hawke is doing right now.

A figure stands at the edge of the camp, hunched and huddled against the cold with a wool blanket. Bethany considers turning away to give the person some privacy, but then she catches a glint of gold reflecting from the firelight at the center of camp and finds herself trudging over anyway.

Josephine turns just slightly at the sound of her approach, hastily wiping at her eyes when Bethany comes to a stop beside her. The ambassador stares down some of the most terrifying figures that modern politics has to offer on a regular basis and somehow convinces them to bend to her will, but something has brought her to tears this night. Bethany feels embarrassed, as if she’s intruding on a private moment that was never meant for her.

“Bethany,” Josephine says thickly, accompanied by a tiny sniffle.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” Bethany says apologetically, digging her boot into the snow beneath it for want of some distraction.

“It’s alright. I must apologize. This is very unbecoming.”

The kohl around her eyes has been streaked and smudged by tears, and yet somehow the effect is anything _but _unbecoming. Bethany suspects that Josephine could make a burlap sack look elegant, but she’s long past being envious of such things.

“Given the circumstances of late, I think a bit of distress is understandable,” Bethany says. “Is there anything I can do?”

“You’ve already saved our lives,” Josephine replies, as though she can’t believe that Bethany would even ask. “The only thing I wished for besides was your safe return.”

Bethany feels herself blush over that, but she has no idea why. She’s used to being fussed at by her sister, but the doting that she receives as the Herald is still foreign to her. From Josephine, however, the sentiment seems genuine in a way that goes beyond her title. _More than a tool or a symbol_, Bethany thinks, and remembers Josephine’s frantic demand that she try to be careful when facing their enemy back at Haven. She digs at the snow beneath her feet again and clamps down on any potentially fatalistic response involving Corypheus. Josephine doesn’t need to hear her troublesome thoughts right now.

“I can’t help but think of the lives lost at Haven,” Josephine continues solemnly. She’s bereft of the confidence she usually holds, shoulders hunched and voice quiet; haunted. “Just when we thought we’d achieved victory, good people were ripped away from us once more by this...monster. And those horrible Templars...how could they allow themselves to be corrupted so? For all the time that I’ve spent working to gain allies, and the goodwill you’ve helped spread for the Inquisition, what good does it do us when we are adrift in these mountains, frozen and starving and fighting amongst ourselves?”

She’s upset herself again, downtrodden and shivering. Bethany understands. This is exactly how she felt when she’d woken up with the anchor on her hand and realized that she wouldn’t simply be returning to Starkhaven with good news for Ella and Teryn like she’d originally planned. Unfortunately, she doesn’t have answers for Josephine.

Corypheus is an unpredictable foe. Bethany faced him once and walked away thinking that he had been defeated, only to discover far too late that she’d been painfully incorrect. There’s a guilt that settles in her chest over that, but the guilt will get them nowhere if they simply freeze to death in the snow. Bethany has shied away from being a symbol of hope, from being too seen, in the hopes that she might go back to a quieter life once she closed the Breach. It’s clear to her now that that’s not an option. And even if it was, would she go? Who is she if she would cower from this responsibility, unwanted though it may be? Josephine has propped her up and dusted her off amidst many instances of doubt since this started. It’s only right that she return the favor now.

“I don’t know what the future holds for us,” Bethany says as steadily as she can manage. “But I’ve faced Corypheus before. He’s powerful, but he’s also a coward. Anyone who runs from death for so long must be. He’s certainly not the most frightening thing I’ve ever seen. He tried to kill me once and failed. I can’t say for certain if the Maker chose me for this, but I’m here regardless. And I intend to make sure that Corypheus fails again. I cannot allow the future I saw in Redcliffe to become reality.”

Her speech has its intended effect—Josephine’s shoulders straighten and her eyes harden as she nods resolutely. “Then you have me with you, Bethany,” she says.

In that moment Bethany realizes her true function: to endure, to spark hope, to light the fires that will sustain this Inquisition until it spreads across Thedas, until they are an insurmountable force. Until Corypheus has no chance of victory against them. Time and again, Bethany has been faced with trials she never believed that she would survive, and each time she has prevailed. She used to look at each incident as a separate instance, and wondered each time if the Maker had forsaken her, and why? But it’s becoming clear now that none of this is a coincidence. Perhaps this was his plan all along: to challenge her until she nearly broke, so that in the end she would be strong enough to carry this task for him. She has to believe that this is the case, because if it isn’t, then she truly has the worst luck in all of Thedas. Perhaps she’ll float the idea to Leliana later.

Josephine shivers again beside her and Bethany suddenly remembers that she could have assisted long ago rather than standing here uselessly. She places a hand on Josephine’s arm and allows the magic to flow through it, the heat in her veins bleeding out into the blanket wrapped around Josephine’s shoulders. When it’s done, Bethany realizes that she probably should have asked first. But Josephine stares at her with eyes wide with wonder rather than disgust, and Bethany manages a small smile.

“Magic exists to serve man, right?” she jokes, and Josephine’s answering smile blooms just as warm as any spell.

xx

The air at Skyhold is brisk, but the majority of the cold is suppressed by the gargantuan walls of the stronghold. The place was a bit of a wreck when they found it, some of the walls crumbling from old siege attempts and remnants of long-gone occupants littering the floor. They’ve since managed to clean up a decent amount of it, but even with the lingering disarray, somehow, it feels a bit like home. The people from Haven are not nearly enough to fill the space, but there are more flocking to them every day, pledging their service to the Inquisition in whatever ways they can.

The numbers in their army grow, and Cullen looks more satisfied each time she sees him, though there’s a pained set to his brow that occurs when he thinks no one is watching. Leliana never truly seems at ease, but there are times when Bethany meets her in the rookery and there’s a quirk at the corner of her mouth, like a secret that Bethany has never been told, but knows the heart of anyway. They’ve been talking more often, connected by their shared faith (and shared doubt). Leliana is a sharpened knife unsheathed these days, but Bethany encourages her to see the value in gentleness, when she can. Josephine is content as ever—thriving under pressure in a way that so few do; gliding through social constructs as if she were molded from the very fabric of wit and grace, and promises forged through sheer determination and a finger of Antivan brandy in just the right moments.

As for Bethany…she becomes more comfortable by the day, and surprises even herself by how confidently she’s able to walk the grounds without feeling like she’s playing a game far beyond her league. People stop as she passes by, greet her with the word _Inquisitor_ in equal amounts of respect, awe, and fear. She smiles and speaks to them as she would any of the mages back in Starkhaven: gentle and level, like they matter (because they do). When Cassandra first stood her on the steps of Skyhold several weeks ago and named her the leader of this band of rebels who dare to stand against a terrifying foe, Bethany felt for a moment as if she might crack under the weight of the eyes and hopes upon her.

“You’ve been the Inquisitor already, regardless of title. Making it official is for the benefit of the people more than anything else. This is not beyond you.”

Cassandra’s words, though simple, were all that Bethany needed to look upon the crowd and promise to lead them to justice, either by the Maker’s light or by the sheer force of their combined will alone, if nothing else. She dedicated the Inquisition to the pursuit of what’s right, to healing the world one person at a time, if that’s what it takes.

After that, it’s business as usual. Much of Ferelden and Orlais is still feeling the tremors of war or the aftermath of the rifts that dot the countryside. Bethany spends hours in the war room with her advisors, poring over the large map and planning out operations. They convene until late in the night sometimes—Leliana perched in the windowsill with her head leaning against the glass, Josephine dragging her tea service in and pouring them each a strong cup to keep them going, and Cullen wearily placing markers on the map when they finally come to an agreement after nearly an hour of bickering and bantering and bickering again.

Despite the pressure, they find a rhythm, and Bethany finds comfort in the familiarity.

xx

A letter arrives from Starkhaven.

_Bethany,_

_I’m glad to hear that you’re well and made it out of Haven safely. The threat that you describe sounds terrifying, but thankfully we have been relatively safe here. Teryn says that Andraste doesn’t deserve you, but he’s just being petulant because he misses you. We all do, but I know that the Maker couldn’t have chosen anyone better._

_Prince Sebastian remains a gracious host, though I’m afraid that I can’t say the same for all of the townspeople here. One of them was particularly nasty to young Corinne the other day as a few of us went to market. Thankfully, we were able to get our supplies and leave in peace, but the incident put a few of the others on edge. Still, it’s just a few people. We’ve been getting on otherwise._

_A new mage joined our ranks recently—a bit of an older man. He said he’s been an apostate his whole life, but he’s worried about being on his own now that the Templars have broken from the Chantry. He seems to know an awful lot about magic for someone who’s never had formal training, but then so do you, I guess. Teryn’s taken to him, but I haven’t quite formed an opinion yet._

_This goes without saying, but please be safe. You are a beacon of hope for us all._

_With love,_

_Ella_

Bethany writes out a reply and makes a note to ask Josephine if there are any supplies that could be spared for her friends. She misses them dearly and despises that she can’t be with them, but in the end, she knows that they’re in good hands. And unfortunately, there are a thousand other things that require her attention as the Inquisitor.

For instance: one day, nearly two months after settling into Skyhold, Hawke arrives in the main hall. At first, Bethany is surprised, then irritated—Varric and her sister have clearly conspired not to tell her about this in advance, presumably under the assumption that she would object to Hawke’s (sometimes overbearing) presence. But then Cassandra quite literally tries to murder Varric in front of every person in attendance, and Bethany’s mild grievances must be set aside in favor of sorting that mess out while Cullen and Leliana physically drag the snarling Seeker away.

“I must begin making reparations immediately,” Josephine mutters worriedly, and scuttles off to mollify some of the more dramatic nobles that have migrated to Skyhold recently.

“Well,” Isabela says, stepping away from Hawke’s side to smooth out the fabric of Varric’s coat with one perfectly-arched eyebrow, “you’ve certainly got a party going here, Sweetness. And here I was imagining that this little Chantry initiative would be _boring_. Good to see you’re still making enemies wherever you go, Varric.”

The dwarf grumbles and Bethany decides that it’s a fine time to move their reunion to the war room, away from prying eyes and the crowd of gawkers who have gathered to get a glimpse of the Champion.

Despite the rocky entrance, it’s good to have Hawke and Isabela near again. The Admiral scoops Bethany up into a crushing hug, and how she carries the smell of the sea with her so far away from any water is a complete mystery, but Maker, it makes Bethany’s chest ache with joy. When Isabela finally releases her, Hawke takes Bethany’s face in her hands and glances over her, crystalline eyes marred with concern.

“Beth…” she murmurs, and Bethany covers Hawke’s hands with her own. Her sister’s eyes have begun to crease just slightly around the edges, but time has been good to Hawke regardless. “If I had known what would happen at that Conclave, I would have attended myself.”

Actually, Josephine had sent an invitation to Hawke, but rather than responding like a normal person, Hawke had crafted some artfully smart ass reply and begged Bethany to deliver it in her stead. Bethany had, of course, refused.

“You’d either be dead, or in the same position that I am now,” Bethany says shortly, in a manner that invites no argument. She is long past the days of needing big sister to protect her from the troubles of the world. Neither of them have ever been able to escape fate anyway. “In any case, we would still be facing the same threat, and I would be no safer. I was unhappy at first, but I’ve accepted this. All I want is your support.”

Bethany knows her sister better than anyone in this world. She knows the crease in Hawke’s brow and the self-deprecating thoughts racing through her mind. No amount of reassurance will erase a lifetime of purpose—Hawke has always, without fail, seen it as her sole responsibility to keep Bethany safe. The green mark glowing faintly against Bethany’s pale hand is no more than a symbol of failure in Hawke’s mind, and Bethany catches her glancing at it now with a pained expression.

“You have us, Sweetness,” Isabela promises softly, which finally prompts Hawke to meet Bethany’s eyes and school her expression resolutely.

“I’m with you, Bethany,” Hawke confirms.

And to Bethany, it feels like they’ve already won.

xx

Day by day, the Inquisition’s forces grow larger as more people pledge themselves in service to the only group that seems to be interested in actually _doing something_. And yet, impossibly, there is so much to do that they still do not have the resources to address it all. The sheer puzzling required is enough to break even the most strategic of minds, and if not for the advisors and her sister, Bethany is positive that she would have gone mad by now.

Isabela blends into the Inquisition as effortlessly as she does everywhere. Within a matter of days, she has occupied a regular place at the tavern as if it were the Hanged Man. Practically everyone in Skyhold has already fallen in love with her, though The Iron Bull and Sera seem to be most affected by their infatuation. And Bethany has not missed the way that even Leliana, of all people, blushes and ducks her head when Isabela meets her eye with a sultry grin. She needles the spymaster about it one evening, but Leliana merely clears her throat uncomfortably, says that they were acquainted in Denerim once when she was traveling with Bethany’s cousin, and will speak of it no further.

(Later, Isabela tells the story over a pint, and then chuckles when she suddenly realizes that she’s slept with _two _Amell girls now, before asking with a suggestive wink if Bethany would allow her to make it a hat trick.)

Hawke, on the other hand, does nothing but worry. Her usual roguish charm is dampened by a profound sense of disturbance over the reemergence of Corypheus and Bethany’s role in the whole affair. There are no words to reassure her. In time, her sister will have to come to terms with their circumstances, but Bethany allows her space for now.

They’re set to leave for Crestwood in the morning. Bethany has been in the habit of dropping by Josephine’s office just before leaving the keep for an extended trip, and today is no different. The ritual began more as a way to check that nothing required her attention before she left, but morphed into something of a comfort as their conversations strayed further away from work. Josephine has always had a way of putting Bethany at ease with the promise of hot tea, a warm smile, and engaging conversation.

She enters the office to find Hawke hovering near Josephine’s desk, offering the ambassador information about Tallis, the Qunari agent that they worked with several years ago.

“If you can find her, and if she’s willing to work with you, she could be an incredibly useful ally,” Hawke says. “Just be sure to mention my name.”

Bethany joins them at the desk and Josephine offers her a quick, familiar smile that mirrors on her own face almost without her consent. “Yes, she was particularly interested in you, wasn’t she, Sister?”

“Well, it’s impossible to resist me, so the odds were stacked against her from the start,” Hawke replies with a smirk that only half-conceals the tension evident in her body. She’s eager to get to her Warden contact and find out more about Corypheus.

Josephine grins at their exchange as she takes down the notes that Hawke dictated to her. “Thank you, Champion. I will have Leliana look into this and attempt to make contact.”

Hawke nods curtly, gives Bethany’s shoulder a squeeze, and leaves. Bethany watches after her, bothered by her sister’s mood. Hawke has always been restless, but that energy has a way of infecting Bethany when she’s around it for too long. It makes her nervous, mana itching in her veins.

“You must be glad to have her here. You seem very close,” Josephine says conversationally, bringing Bethany’s attention back around. She’s already got a pot of tea going, and Bethany realizes that Josephine was anticipating her visit. The thought buzzes around in her brain for a moment longer than necessary.

“We look out for each other, though my sister likes to believe that the burden of protection is solely on her. There was a time when we were inseparable, and then a time when we couldn’t be together. I learned that I could survive without her, but it feels better to have her near.”

Josephine pours the tea and leads Bethany to the armchairs by the fire. She looks at Bethany with that disarming gaze of hers and takes a thoughtful sip of tea before speaking.

“Leliana mentioned a brother of yours,” she says.

The pang of loss is instant, a wound that has scabbed over with time, but never truly heals. Bethany’s inhale is sharper than she intends, and Josephine looks instantly regretful, clearly unaware that this would be a sore topic.

“There is no need to discuss, if you’d rather not,” she hurries.

Bethany shakes her head. “It’s okay. Carver was my twin. He died while we were fleeing the Blight.”

“Bethany, I am so sorry,” Josephine says, horrified at having made such a conversational blunder. She reaches out to cover Bethany’s hand, and though Bethany no longer cries at the mere mention of Carver, the touch is steadying all the same.

“It was a long time ago. He was a glory-seeking twit of a boy, always lashing out to cover up his own insecurities. But there were times when he could be incredibly kind, and despite his flaws, I loved him. He would have leapt at the chance to join the Inquisition,” Bethany says with a fond smile.

Josephine always seems to know what to say in any situation, but she also knows exactly when to be silent as well. She allows Bethany space to breathe through the bittersweet pain that washes over her now, like pressing on an old bruise, sharp and reassuring, then fading.

Bethany carries on after the moment has passed. “I’ve heard you speak of siblings.”

Graciously, Josephine takes the topic and runs with it. She speaks fondly of her younger siblings, voice laced with exasperation as she describes some of their more trying traits. By the end, Bethany feels as if she knows the Montilyet family like her own. As she retires to bed later that night, her heart is light and filled with cheer.

xx

Bethany says, “I don’t think I’ve ever been this angry at my sister before.”

Stupid, selfish Hawke, whose idiocy is exceeded only by Carver in that he actually succeeded in martyring himself. Had Bethany not intervened, Hawke would have done the same. She’ll have plenty of amends to make when she returns from Weisshaupt.

She doesn’t look to see Josephine’s expression, but she doesn’t have to. She can practically hear the frown on her face in the deep breath she takes before she responds. Josephine found Bethany in the garden, fingers trailing over the Crystal Grace petals glowing softly in the moonlight. Whether she actually came here specifically to speak to her isn’t clear, but the lingering scent of her perfume is the first comfort Bethany’s felt in days.

“There are some people in this world who believe so strongly that all they have to offer is their own sacrifice,” Josephine says after a moment of careful contemplation. “They do not understand that the rift they would leave in their absence would be far more devastating than the problem at hand. Your spymaster is one such person.”

It’s been several days since their return from Adamant. Bethany still hasn’t found the words to describe her experience there. Cassandra and Cullen’s reports were thorough, but no dry account can do justice to the horror that has been haunting Bethany since. It’s left its stains even here—visible in the dark circles around Varric’s eyes, the strained smirk at Isabela’s lips as she takes another pull of ale, and the hunch of Leliana’s shoulders as she grasps at the meaning of a dead woman’s words sent from beyond the Veil.

Bethany finally turns to look at Josephine. The moon has made the grey of her eyes iridescent; infinite. Her brow is pinched in concern as she assesses Bethany’s face (and she knows what she looks like: drawn and pale, eyes purple from lack of sleep). A wisp of Josephine’s hair has escaped its binding after a long day of work. For a moment, Bethany allows herself to be distracted and thinks of what it would be like to reach out and tuck the dark strands back where they belong.

She doesn’t. Instead, she says: “Do you believe in self-sacrifice?”

Josephine looks surprised by that question. It takes a second for her to find her reply.

“I—I suppose there are some things that I would sacrifice...for my family, there are few things that I would not do,” she says. “However, if my position has taught me anything, it’s that there are always several paths to a destination. I do not believe the end always justifies the means.”

“I allowed myself to be a sacrifice once,” Bethany muses. “I asked Cullen to take me to the Circle in Kirkwall in the hopes that it would ease a burden on my family and allow them to live freely. But my mother died and I wasn’t there for her, and the Circle was destroyed in the end. There are more important things sometimes than desperate martyrdom. Hawke is the only family I have left. She doesn’t get to decide—”

The anger swells up in the back of her throat and her voice breaks. Bethany feels her blood boiling in her veins and longs for a target to launch some of that fire at.

“Bethany…” Josephine calls to her, and then there’s a cool hand resting on her cheek, bringing her attention back to the deep worry on Josephine’s face.

Suddenly, Bethany’s world comes into focus. Since she returned from the Fade, she’s felt like she was drifting, detached, untethered. Now, she snaps back into full sound and color. The world is still turning, and she is still the leader of this Inquisition. There is work to do.

“You don’t know how glad I am to have met you,” Bethany says with a small, relieved sigh. “I feel like you’ve kept me sane this whole time.”

“Oh,” Josephine says, blushing and glancing away quickly. “Well...I hope this is not too forward, but I consider you to be a dear friend.”

“We’re the last line of defense against the end of the world,” Bethany laughs. “I don’t think there’s such a thing as being too forward. Also, I keep close company with a pirate. There’s little that offends.”

Josephine cracks a smile and removes her hand from Bethany’s face. And if Bethany feels the sting of disappointment at the loss, she tries not to think about it too hard.

xx

Before Adamant, Leliana had requested permission to use Inquisition resources to contact the Hero of Ferelden in an attempt to confirm her safety from Corypheus’ influence. Bethany had, of course, agreed. Several weeks later, they receive a reply.

The first half of the letter tells Bethany that her cousin unfortunately has no knowledge of Corypheus, but that she is thankfully far from his reach. She then asks Bethany to look after Leliana, to help guide her back to the light if she’s lost her way. The last part of the letter is a bit more personal.

_I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that this world can be cruel to mages like you and I. Although we have never met, we share the same blood, which is enough to tell me that you are strong enough to face your foe and emerge victorious. For whatever reason, it appears that the Maker has chosen our line to carry out some of his grander plans. This can be an incredibly heavy burden, but you must always remember that no challenge is won alone. Rely on your companions to help you stay the course and you will succeed in any endeavor. I wish you the best of luck and I hope that we are fortunate enough to cross paths one day._

_Sincerely,_

_Warden-Commander Amell of Ferelden _

The separate reply for Leliana’s eyes only has put the spymaster in good spirits, a relief after Bethany had none of the answers she was seeking about Justinia’s message from the Fade.

“She said she misses me,” Leliana says with a soft smile that lights her face in a way that Bethany has scarcely seen. “It is good to know that she’s still fighting so that we might return to one another when this is over.”

“You deserve to be happy, Leliana,” Bethany tells her sincerely.

Leliana glances at her fondly. “I often forget that you are cousins, but I can see the similarities. You are both kind women, gentle and enduring. She does also seem to share a brash sense of restless adventurism with your sister, however.”

“Yes, and what a _lovely_ family trait that is,” Isabela grouses from where she stands in front of one of the library shelves.

She hasn’t talked much about what happened at Adamant, but Bethany knows that she’s furious (maybe more so with herself for being in love, for caring enough to be so terrified of losing someone). Still, she’s finally showing her face outside of the tavern, so that’s an improvement.

“This is bollocks. All the books in this dusty library and nothing worth reading. Where’s the _smut_?”

“Hmm, yes, Inquisitor, your library is woefully bereft of quality literature,” Dorian interjects sarcastically.

Isabela settles into a seat beside Bethany at one of the tables and twirls her finger through a lock of Bethany’s hair, though her eyes are trained dangerously on Dorian. Bethany exchanges an amused glance with her spymaster.

“I’m particularly interested in the one about the prissy Tevinter mage who gets conquered by his massive, forbidden Qunari lover every night,” Isabela replies, and Dorian splutters. “You think you could track that one down for me, Nightingale?”

“I shall have to look into it,” Leliana says dryly, smirk playing at her lips. Dorian mumbles something under his breath and retreats further into the stacks. “Speaking of which, my agents tracked down that item you inquired about, Inquisitor. It should arrive from Val Royeaux within the week.”

“Good news at last. Thank you, Leliana.”

The spymaster nods and heads back up to the rookery.

“Something shiny, I hope,” Isabela says once she’s gone. Her fingers card gently through Bethany’s curls.

“Sorry, Bela,” Bethany says apologetically. “It’s actually a surprise for Josephine.”

Isabela’s fingers still in her hair, and Bethany glances over to find her with one eyebrow arched and a slow grin spreading across her face. She says nothing, but she doesn’t need to. Bethany tries to ignore her, as well as the heat steadily creeping up her cheeks.

xx

Josephine is well-known for keeping up appearances even in the face of some of the most trying and entitled specimens that Thedas has to offer. On this day, however, Bethany enters her office to find the ambassador speaking with her assistant, a thunderous expression clouding her face. It’s enough to make Bethany stutter step for a moment, and the movement catches Josephine’s attention. Her face shifts immediately when she realizes who’s entered, and she dismisses her assistant with a curt nod.

“Good day, Inquisitor,” she says, and though her expression and voice are neutral, the tension in her shoulders is still evident.

“Everything okay, Josephine?” Bethany asks cautiously. She’s rarely seen Josephine truly upset and isn’t really sure what she’s in for.

However, it seems that Bethany’s presence is all that’s required to disarm her. Josephine sighs and rubs at her hairline, shoulders slumping for just a moment as she relaxes.

“A spot of trouble with my family affairs. It’s nothing that will affect my work for the Inquisition, though,” she hurries to add.

Bethany frowns. “You can tell me about it, if you like. I’ve little concern for impact to the Inquisition if something is bothering you this deeply.”

Josephine smiles gratefully and proceeds to explain the trouble she’s encountering attempting to restore her family’s trading rights in Orlais. Bethany has no concept of mercantilism or how any of it is supposed to work, but she’s almost certain that having couriers assassinated is not part of normal procedure.

“I think we should investigate,” she says immediately. For a moment, Josephine looks likely to protest, but then nods her assent.

“I would appreciate it, Bethany. Thank you.” Her eyes are suddenly drawn to the package in Bethany’s hands. In the midst of listening to Josephine’s story, Bethany had nearly forgotten herself. Now, she fidgets nervously. She’s never been very good at giving gifts.

“Ah,” she says, and hands over the bundle awkwardly. “This is for you.”

Josephine’s eyes widen in surprise and she takes it gingerly, feeling the weight of it in her hands before unwrapping it with great care. When the contents are revealed, she gasps sharply, gently running her fingers over the old Montilyet crest—a relic from a time before her family had fallen out of favor.

“Oh,” Josephine breathes. “I hadn’t thought...I mean, I’d only mentioned this off hand. How did you…?”

“Leliana helped track it down,” Bethany explains, idly massaging the anchor on her hand. “I just wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done so far.”

Josephine meets her eyes with a look that makes Bethany’s stomach too warm. “Bethany, this means more than I can express with words. There must be something that I can do for you in return.”

“It’s a gift,” Bethany shrugs. “If it made your day better, that’s all I wanted.”

“Then you have succeeded,” Josephine says, smile soft and tender. “Thank you.”

Bethany tries desperately not to blush any more than she probably already is. Luckily, the door to Josephine’s office opens, offering her a much needed distraction from the intensity of Josephine’s eyes. Varric enters the room, grinning at the sight of them.

“Perfect. My two favorite ladies in the Inquisition,” he says.

“Don’t let Isabela hear you say that,” Bethany warns, but Varric waves her off.

“Rivaini knows she holds a special place in my heart. Anyway, we’re rounding up the crew for a game of Wicked Grace tonight that the tavern. You guys in?” Bethany is terrible at card games, but she rarely passes up a chance to spend time with Isabela and Varric, a bit of nostalgia from days long since passed. She shrugs and nods her assent. “Knew I could count on you, Sunshine. What do you say, Ruffles?”

Josephine bites the corner of her lip as she contemplates. “I really am rather busy. I’m still responding to inquiries about the Inquisitor’s time in the Fade.” She glances at Bethany, whose mouth quirks up in the tiniest of smirks at the weakness of Josephine’s excuse. It doesn’t take much more than that for the ambassador to crack. “Very well. I suppose one night won’t hurt.”

Varric smiles, satisfied, and takes his leave. Not wanting to linger too long, Bethany stands to do the same. Josephine’s hand on her wrist stops her, thumb dancing lightly over the veins there. Bethany feels it all the way down her spine.

“Thank you, again, Bethany,” Josephine says quietly, sincerely. “I shall cherish this gift.”

Bethany can do little more than smile and try not to trip on her way out.

Later, at the tavern, Bethany sits beside Isabela, belly warm and head just barely fuzzy from the swill she’s managed to choke down so far. Isabela’s hand is idly playing with her hair again; it puts Bethany at ease and makes her feel content. Varric has somehow managed to round up half of the inner circle—even Cullen and Leliana have made an appearance.

Josephine is so good at cards that it’s almost scary. It shouldn’t be surprising; when she wants to, she can put on a mask to rival even Leliana. She sits across the table, taking nearly every round to the point that Cassandra has removed herself from the game completely, content to learn by watching. Cullen insists on continuing to try, head falling into his hands with a groan as he loses yet again. Josephine laughs, delighted like she has no idea where her luck is coming from.

“There’s something incredibly sexy about that ambassador of yours, hmm?” Isabela murmurs quietly so that only Bethany can hear.

“Bela,” Bethany glares, and Isabela chuckles, low and mischievous, satisfied at having elicited her desired reaction.

Across the table, Josephine catches her eye, smile so bright that Bethany thinks Varric’s named the wrong person “Sunshine”. Bethany’s breath catches unexpectedly at the sight of it. Maker, she needs to stay away from this Dwarven piss ale.

xx

Hawke returns to Skyhold just days before they’re set to investigate some of the conflict in the Dales. She finds Bethany in her quarters, looking wearier than Bethany can remember seeing her in a while. Conflict rolls off of Hawke like water off of dragon scales, but there are some things that are too heavy even for the Champion. Despite Bethany’s anger when they last parted, Bethany greets her sister with a silent hug. Hawke’s knees nearly buckle, and she holds Bethany tightly.

“I’m just so tired of not being able to stop the bad things from happening,” Hawke says brokenly. “I thought that maybe if I…”

Bethany sweeps some of her sister’s hair behind her ear, forces her chin up until sharp blue eyes meet her own. “You’re not a god, Sister. Some things are beyond even your control. But you can’t change the course of the world if you’re not in it. And I can’t do this without you. Stay with me here. Help us win this.”

Hawke’s shoulders sag and she releases a heavy breath, lightened by the gift of Bethany’s forgiveness, if only a little bit. Bethany leads them to the bed and allows Hawke to rest her head on her shoulder.

“You’re the best of all of us, Bethy,” Hawke says quietly. “You have Mother’s good sense and resilience, Father’s intelligence and patience. I hate that this fell on you, but if anyone has a chance of making this work, it’s you. Mother would be so proud of you.”

“Mother would be beside herself with worry,” Bethany counters playfully, “and she would be furious with you for not killing the immortal darkspawn magister the first time so that this never happened to me.”

“You’re right,” Hawke laughs. “Probably best that she’s not here to see this. I can do the guilt and self-loathing well enough without her help.”

“She wasn’t fair to you,” Bethany says seriously, stroking Hawke’s hair. “She made you carry too much. But you don’t have to do it alone anymore. You’re the Champion and I’m the Inquisitor. We can carry it together.”

“Maybe one day we’ll even be allowed to put it all down and live quietly,” Hawke muses.

Bethany hums and thinks of the million lives she dreamed she might be living by now over the years. “I hope so, Sister.”

xx

It takes a village, but in the end, Josephine is finally able to get her family’s trading status restored. Not before a man sneaks into Skyhold and tries to take her life, of course. Bethany’s heart pounds as she enters her office to find a dead assassin at Isabela’s feet, her daggers still wet with fresh blood.

“Not a very good assassin, if you ask me,” she says, kicking the dead man’s boot as Leliana stares down at his body with a grimace.

And still, Josephine insists on resolving this issue “the right way”. Bethany isn’t one for senseless violence, but she has half a mind to give Leliana permission to simply destroy the House of Repose in one fell swoop. Instead, she runs herself ragged currying favors with half of the Orlesian nobility just to get around the contract. The Iron Bull graciously offers his “services” to the dowager so that she’ll sponsor the Du Paraquettes, and to Bethany’s complete surprise, she accepts. Bethany never ever wants to think about it again, but it gets the job done, thank the Maker.

When it’s all over, Josephine meets her by the port in Val Royeaux and talks about her brief time as a bard, before she realized that she had neither the heart nor the stomach to live the life that Leliana has chosen for herself. Bethany stands at the railing and looks at Josephine’s profile as she gazes out over the sea, imagines what she’ll look like at the docks in Antiva with the wind in her hair and sunset in her eyes, a whole fleet of merchant ships at her command. Her chest aches so suddenly with the desire to be there, to see it, that she doesn’t even notice Josephine reaching for her hands.

“I find myself in your debt once again, Bethany,” she says, and her eyes are tangled with gratitude and something else; something deeper and less discernible that makes Bethany feel like she needs to fidget or look away. Anything to escape the intensity of a gaze that she doesn’t know how to handle right now. “Thank you for helping me take care of this the way I wanted to. Because of you, my family has a future again. I…”

Whatever Josephine is going to say is lost as she falters, hesitates. Bethany doesn’t know if she wants to hear it or not, doesn’t even know what she wants those words to be. They die in the back of Josephine’s throat, and Bethany lets them, too afraid to ask, too unsure to act.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” she says hoarsely, and lets Josephine’s hands drop.

The loss of them is like ice in her veins, but that, at least, is a reassuring and familiar feeling that she can cling to.

xx

The Inquisition is going to a ball. Actually, not just a ball. _The_ ball—the event that all of Thedas is talking about. When Josephine announces that she’s secured them all invites to the Winter Palace so that they can hopefully stop whatever Corypheus has planned to assassinate Celene, all that Bethany can think is that this is something she’s dreamed of since she was a girl. She never thought she’d have the opportunity to actually attend something like this in her life.

Cullen talks about logistics and smuggling soldiers into the palace, and Josephine stresses the importance of making a good impression, but when Leliana mentions shoes…well, the conversation derails pretty quickly from there as she and Bethany begin discussing Orlesian fashion in such detail that Cullen eventually huffs and flops down into a chair to study some sketches of the palace. They go on until they’re interrupted by Scout Harding, who hands over a report to Leliana. (Not before she notices Cullen and blushes, stammers out a _Hello, Commander_, and then he clears his throat and his cheeks flush too. And that is absolutely something that Bethany will be prying about later.) Leliana excuses herself, and Cullen is finally allowed to resume talking about swords and armor and numbers.

It’s late by the time he leaves Josephine and Bethany by themselves in the war room. The candles on the table have begun to run low, casting shadows on the maps and documents there. Josephine has long since shed her outerwear, leaving her in a lacy white blouse that makes her skin glow in contrast. She’s been jotting down notes for the last hour, reminders for herself of things that will need to be coordinated before they arrive.

“Are you familiar with traditional Orlesian dances?” she asks absently, looking up at Bethany’s sudden silence to find that she’s blanched white as a sheet. “I’ll take that as a no. We’ll need to hire in a tutor, then. As the Inquisitor, you will be expected to dance with many of the powerful names in attendance.”

“Andraste preserve me,” Bethany groans. “Can you even teach someone to dance in such a short amount of time?”

“Yes, that is a concern,” Josephine agrees, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. “I may need to ask Vivienne for her thoughts on instructors. She’ll know who comes highly recommended.”

As she scribbles down another note, Bethany feels her excitement for the ball dwindling as anxiety sets in. She has no idea how to actually do this. She never got to be noble, no matter what her family’s status in Kirkwall. They’d probably be better off sending Hawke in her place. Orlais may be far from the Free Marches, but she’s pretty sure the Champion must carry some notoriety there.

“I can’t believe we’re going to have to use Inquisition resources just to teach me how to dance,” Bethany complains. “Couldn’t you just show me what to do?”

“Me?” Josephine asks, eyes wide like she would never have considered that in a thousand years.

And really, Bethany hadn’t even realized what she was asking until now, but if it’s the difference between making a fool out of herself in front of Josephine and doing it with some strange instructor who’s getting paid fifty sovereigns an hour, she’d rather save the money and mortify herself for free.

“You must have been to loads of dances. And it’ll be quicker than hiring someone in and waiting for them to travel here.”

“Well, I…I suppose I could. I am no instructor, but I did have to teach my siblings.” Josephine runs her finger along the feather of her quill in thought. “Very well. This room should be adequate, if we can push this table over a bit.”

“Now?” Bethany asks, eyebrows connecting with her hairline. She sighs and resigns herself to a long night. She should have known that Josephine would get straight to business.

The war table is too heavy for the two of them to move by hand, but Bethany gives it a little shove with magic and it budges a few feet across the floor reluctantly. Josephine watches with that same look of barely restrained awe that she always seems to get whenever Bethany uses magic around her, and Bethany feels her cheeks warm under the scrutiny.

“Alright. You begin the dance in a hold, like this.”

Josephine steps closer; closer than they’ve ever been to each other. Their bodies are just a hair’s breadth apart, and it’s only now that Bethany is realizing the implications of this. Her stomach flips with nerves, but she allows Josephine to show her how to stand and where to put her hands. They take a few fumbling steps together and Josephine corrects her posture, makes her try again. The longer they go on, the less intently aware she is of their proximity and the more she focuses on actually being able to execute the steps.

They might be there for an hour, or it might be a decade. Bethany loses herself in learning, and then she loses herself in sweeping Josephine around the room in decidedly less-than-perfect form, feeling a bit silly and giddy from a mixture of exhaustion and confidence over her progress this evening. The dancing isn’t as hard as she thought it would be, but maybe she’s just had a very good teacher.

They come to a sudden halt at the back of the room and Josephine laughs breathlessly, eyes impossibly bright in the dim light cast by the torches on the wall. A piece of hair has fallen from her braid, and for once, Bethany doesn’t think about it. She reaches out carefully and brushes it back, just the tips of her fingers grazing Josephine’s temple. Josephine’s mouth parts slightly and her breath hitches, eyes trained on Bethany with that same look from the docks in Val Royeaux.

Something aligns. Bethany understands very suddenly what’s been pressing at the edges of her brain for so long now. This is more than just _I’m glad to have met you_ or _I consider you to be a dear friend_. This is fingers itching with more than just magic, hands helpless to stop from reaching out to touch, eyes locked across rooms like magnets, heat creeping up cheeks and shy smiles tugging at lips. Bethany wants so deeply, and thinks that maybe this is something that she can actually have.

There’s a noise outside the room that startles them both. Bethany falters and disengages, breaks away with a sharp intake of air that takes the moment with it when she exhales. Josephine fusses with her hair, looks at everything except Bethany.

“Well, I think you’ve already shown a great deal of improvement,” she says quickly. “It’s rather later than I expected. I suppose I should retire for the evening. Goodnight, Bethany.”

“Goodnight,” Bethany responds faintly, but Josephine is already half out the door by the time it leaves her lips.

xx

The Inquisition formal wear that Josephine had commissioned is a far cry from the fanciful Orlesian dresses that Bethany had imagined she might be wearing to an event such as this. A lifetime ago, Fenris suggested that she should wear such a gown because she would look good in one, but instead she’s wearing something closer to a formal military uniform. It’s not unattractive, per se, but Bethany has never felt that she looked very good in red.

There’s a soft knock at the door while Bethany struggles with the blue sash at her waist, and then Josephine ascends the steps to her quarters. Bethany’s fingers stall and her breath leaves her body in a rush as she takes in the sight of Josephine in full dress. She doesn’t have the means to describe how transcendent Josephine looks—more dashing than any prince in the stories that Bethany held so dear when she was a child, and more beautiful than any woman she’d ever blushed at in Kirkwall.

Josephine has stopped just a few feet away from her, eyes wide and lips parted as if she meant to say something, but suddenly forgot how to speak. _Tell her she’s beautiful_, Bethany screams internally, but it seems that her body is not interested in following orders. Josephine blinks and breathes and steps forward with an easy smile, as if the last few moments were nothing but a dream.

“Allow me to help,” she says, and moves closer to tie the sash of Bethany’s uniform with practiced hands. The scent of her perfume is dizzying in the best possible way. “There. The nobility will be climbing over one another for a chance to speak with you.”

“Delightful,” Bethany quips, trying to regain her senses now that Josephine has put some distance between them again.

“Everything will be fine,” Josephine says, but it sounds more like she’s trying to convince herself, and failing miserably at that.

“Not if we don’t speak to Isabela before we go in,” Bethany says, making her way down the stairs now that she’s fully dressed. “Otherwise, our mounts will be leaden with stolen coin and jewelry on the way back to Skyhold.”

Josephine follows closely behind her, muttering exasperated Antivan phrases under her breath the whole way down. Most of the others are already waiting for them when they arrive in the main hall. At Bethany’s appearance, Isabela lets out a low whistle.

“Hawke, are you sure it’s too late for me to deflower your sister?” she asks, and Bethany blushes furiously, shooting a withering glare in Isabela’s direction.

Hawke closes her eyes and shakes her head while Cassandra makes a disgusted noise in the back of her throat.

“Maker preserve us,” Cullen mutters, and Bethany silently agrees. This is certainly going to be an adventure.

xx

“I’ve noticed something,” Leliana says casually as she leans against the railing of the balcony overlooking the courtyard below. The height of it is extremely unsettling to Bethany, but Leliana seems at ease here.

“Your appointment as spymaster is not wasted then, I take it,” Bethany says drolly.

It’s been a little over a week since they returned from their successful trip to Halamshiral. Celene and Briala are wrangling Orlais back to some sense of order as they speak. Leliana called her up here under the guise of having some information for her, but it’s quickly become apparent that there’s something else she wishes to discuss.

The spymaster smirks just slightly at Bethany’s response. “You and Josephine have become quite close,” she continues. It’s not what Bethany expects, not even by a longshot, and she nearly chokes on her surprise as she freezes in place. “At first I wasn’t sure, you know. You spend a lot of time involving yourself in the various operations around here, and I thought, ‘Oh, they must just be discussing business’. But it’s more than that, no? You seek her out upon your return to Skyhold as though you are drawn to her. When you look at her…well, I’ve seen that look before. It runs in your family.”

Bethany remains silent as Leliana turns to her, and those pale eyes might as well be looking straight through her. It almost feels as though she’s having her thoughts read, but even Leliana isn’t capable of that.

“I’m not sure what to say,” Bethany tells her.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Leliana replies, then finally bestows a soft smile upon Bethany that at least makes her feel slightly less like she’s about to be pushed off of this balcony, though certainly no less mortified. “You know, if you were anyone else, I would probably be threatening you right now. Josephine is very dear to me. I do not question your intentions, Bethany, but I want to caution you still. Josephine may be a formidable negotiator and an expert at playing the Game, but she is much less experienced in the art of love. It’s likely that she doesn’t even realize that you have feelings for her.”

_I’ve only barely realized it myself_, Bethany thinks. And if Josephine is even half as oblivious as Bethany is, there’s a good chance that Leliana is right. Still, it’s not as if some of their recent interactions have been subtle. Bethany often feels that her emotions are written on her face for all the world to read.

Leliana continues, oblivious to Bethany’s internal contemplation. “I only ask that you think carefully before you make your feelings known to her, if you intend to do so. Your cousin is the Hero of Ferelden and your sister the Champion of Kirkwall, and you have surpassed them both in notoriety and in the danger of your task. I can tell you from experience that it is no easy path to love a woman with the fate of the world resting on her shoulders. To begin a romance with your ambassador now, in the midst of war, could be...unwise.”

Those words hit Bethany like a poisoned arrow to the chest, knocking the wind from her lungs and turning her stomach over. She knows what Leliana is saying: that her task is too important to allow either of them to be distracted by love. That she may begin a romance only to be defeated and perish any day. And how could that ever be fair to Josephine, to ask her to love someone with no guarantee of a future together aside from heartache?

Bethany feels so much anger, so much anguish, over losing something she hasn’t even been allowed to have; has barely even figured out if she wants. It washes over her in aching waves. Leliana must see it on her. Her face wilts into something like sympathy.

“The plight of a hero is to sacrifice so much to ensure everyone else’s happy ending that you may never get to have one for yourself. If I could take this burden from you and give it to anyone else in the world, I would, Bethany.”

It’s a hollow sentiment, really, considering the fact that Bethany wouldn’t wish this on her worst enemy. She doesn’t acknowledge it, and instead leaves Leliana on the balcony with little more than a hasty farewell.

xx

They’ve managed to foil another one of Corypheus’ plans in saving Celene, and yet the amount of work ahead of them seems only to have grown. Within the next few months, Bethany has traveled half of Orlais taking out Venatori, Red Templars, shutting down Sampson’s red lyrium operation and closing rifts and doing what she can to help people along the way.

On top of that, it feels like her inner circle is falling apart. Hawke and Isabela have finally seemed to reconcile, but now Cullen is suffering lyrium withdrawal and Cole is terrified of being turned into a demon; Vivienne needs her help with some personal matter and Leliana does, too.

She hardly sleeps, what with all of the different matters that require her attention, but the population at Skyhold has grown monumentally and Josephine says they’re receiving enough coin and support to practically be crowned a sovereign nation, so she supposes the effort is worth it in the end.

It’s on a brief trip home, after spending some miserable time in the Emprise and just before they’re due to head to the Frostback Basin, that a messenger delivers a letter to her from Starkhaven.

_Lady Inquisitor,_

_Thank you for your recent assistance in aiding the restoration efforts in Kirkwall. I know that it is not a place that likely holds many fond memories for you, but I have always admired your kindness. You truly are touched by the Maker’s Bride._

_I wish that I was writing with better news, but I felt it was prudent to inform you immediately of a recent situation involving your friends here in Starkhaven. A group of townspeople took it upon themselves to attack their safehouse. In the resulting battle, all of those townspeople were slaughtered. There were reports of demons and blood magic in use, but the safehouse is empty and the mages have fled._

_Out of courtesy for you, I must inform you that the city guard has been ordered to find the mages and slay any who take up vile blood magic. Those who come peacefully will be held until further investigations can be completed. If you wish to assist in this matter, I would welcome your help in the hopes that we can arrive at a peaceful conclusion._

_Yours,_

_Prince Sebastian Vael_

The instant panic that floods her chest upon reading the letter cannot be described. Bethany sprints through the castle until she finds Hawke in the war room discussing something with the advisors. Bethany shoves the letter into her face with half a sob in her throat. Hawke’s expression darkens as she reads it, and she takes Bethany in her arms until the worst of her shaking has subsided.

“Tell me what you want to do, Beth,” she says resolutely. “I’ll see that it’s done.”

“No,” Bethany says, voice thick with tears and self-loathing. “This is my fault. I wasn’t there for them. I need to go. I have to help.”

Leliana has already taken up the letter and read it for herself. She looks wholly unimpressed by the contents and passes it on to Josephine. “I find Prince Vael’s response to this situation lacking in any helpfulness,” she says, lips curling in a sneer. “Did you know all of the mages there? Did any of them ever show signs of using blood magic or summoning demons?”

Bethany shakes her head. “We were all there because we believed in peace. Most of them were either very young, or older. All came from a former Circle, except…”

“What is it?” Josephine prods at Bethany’s sudden silence.

“The last letter I got from Ella talked about a man who joined them. She said he wasn’t from the Circle, but he knew a lot about magic. I didn’t think much of it at the time.”

“Perhaps your group was infiltrated by Venatori,” Morrigan suggests.

Bethany is sure that she’s going to be sick. She should have been there. She should never have left them to go to that Maker-forsaken Conclave. How could she be so stupid? So selfish? She remembers Ella’s face the day she left, sad and a bit worried, and Bethany had merely smiled and assured her that everything would be fine. And now? What if the Venatori has forced them all into possession? All of those children…her friends…

“I’ll send my agents ahead to try to find them quietly and report back anything they see,” Leliana says.

“And I’ll have a traveling party prepared for you at once, Inquisitor,” Cullen adds.

Bethany doesn’t really hear them and doesn’t acknowledge. Hawke takes over for her, nods her approval, and they leave, along with Morrigan.

“I can write to the Prince and urge him not to take any action until the Inquisitor arrives,” Josephine offers.

“Let me write it. He might be more inclined to listen if it comes from me,” Hawke says. “Will it get there in time?”

“I’ll make sure of it,” Josephine confirms.

Hawke turns back to Bethany, hands on her cheeks to try to pull her focus away from the downward spiral of death and destruction occurring in her mind. Bethany’s eyes snap to her, then flicker briefly to Josephine, whose face is leaden with concern.

“We’ll find them, Bethy,” Hawke says, strong and reassuring as ever. “It’ll be okay.”

She can’t possibly know that, but Bethany slowly nods and allows herself to pretend that it’s true, if only for a moment.

xx

They travel at top speed, but it’s still not fast enough. Bethany has worried her nails down to the quick by the time they arrive at the farmhouse that Leliana’s scouts have determined to be the mages’ hideout. Sebastian and his retinue arrive nearly in sync with them, and Hawke argues with him for several minutes before he finally agrees to let the Inquisitor take the lead. The door is already open, as if their presence has been expected. Bethany enters first, staff at the ready, stomach roiling with anxiety.

The inside of the place is furnished for living, but it appears that whoever occupied it before is not present. Instead, Bethany’s gaze lands immediately on Teryn, whose eyes widen in surprise, then fear. There are others that she recognizes, a few of the older mages. Ella, Bethany realizes with acid rising in her throat, is nowhere to be seen.

“Ah,” says a man in white robes, stepping forward with a satisfied smirk on his face, “I hadn’t thought to receive a personal visit from the Inquisitor herself. Such a pleasure.”

Bethany ignores him. “Teyrn,” she says, and when her voice shakes, she makes no effort to control it, “what’s happened?”

“The villagers became hostile,” Teryn says, voice quick with panic. Bethany often forgets how young he actually is, but she sees it now in the shame on his cheeks and the way that he can barely meet her eyes. “They were going to kill us all. We had to do something.”

And since Bethany read Sebastian’s letter, there had been very little doubt in her mind that the allegations of blood magic had to have been false. Mages are so often accused of deviance with little foundation. But at Teryn’s words, her blood turns to ice.

“What did you do?” she asks, barely a whisper.

“Answer Her Worship!” Sebastian snaps when Teryn takes too long to answer. Hawke puts a hand on his arm to calm him. The air is so thick with tension and magic that Bethany feels her breaths go shallow.

“Blood magic,” Teryn stammers, and then hurries to explain further. “The villagers were getting more angry by the day. They threatened us in the streets, children included. Just words at first, but then they started throwing things. Eventually they began watching outside of our house night and day, screaming. I didn’t want to fight, but everyone was afraid and I didn’t know what else to do. Vanus taught us how we could be sure that we were protected. When the townspeople attacked, they set the house on fire. There were so many of them…some of the elder mages sacrificed themselves so that we would have enough power to fight back.”

Bethany closes her eyes against the implication of that statement while Sebastian snarls behind her.

“Your friend made the necessary decision to protect his clan at all costs,” Vanus interjects without prompting, and Bethany’s eyes fly open to stare him down. “It was all too easy to get him to see reason.” Bethany’s blood begins to boil hotter than the midday sun in the Western Approach. She feels the flames licking at her veins, fury clogging in her throat at his smug smile. “I wonder what the world will think about the Inquisitor’s own brood taking up such fearful magic.”

“You should quiet your tongue if you value its place in your mouth,” Hawke growls, daggers in hand as she coils like a spring.

Vanus lets out a throaty chuckle. “Your threats mean nothing to me, Champion. I am but one of legions. For every supposed victory your fruitless Inquisition achieves, there are a thousand shadows enacting the Elder One’s will. You merely seek to delay the inevitable.”

Bethany’s fist clenches and then snaps open, and flames engulf the Venatori agent in an instant, burning as bright and hot as the rage pounding in her head. Teryn and the other mages stumble backwards and Sebastian readies his bow, but Bethany stands stone still, jaw clenching as she watches him burn until his screams falter. She taps her staff to the floor and a chill falls over the room, extinguishing the flames and leaving nothing but a charred corpse behind.

“Where are the others?” she asks in the stillness that follows, and Teryn swallows harshly before pointing them to the stairs that lead to the cellar. Bethany looks him in the eye and tries to remember a greater betrayal, a worse disappointment than the gravel sinking in her chest and tearing at every nerve ending right now. “Are any of them possessed or bound?”

Teryn’s head snaps up in surprise. “No,” he says quickly. “I swear it.”

Bethany nods.

“You cannot take his word,” Sebastian interjects, incensed. “He’s shown that he can’t be trusted.”

“I believe him,” Bethany says calmly, glancing back at the prince with a look that invites no argument. She looks back to Teryn, and feels heartrending sorrow. “How could you let yourself become this? How could you lead the others to it?”

“You left us!” he exclaims, red anger flaring on his cheeks. His fists clench and both Hawke and Sebastian tense, but Bethany does not fear him. “You ran off to save the world and left us behind. I had to protect them.”

“Magic will serve that which is best in me, not that which is most base,” Bethany says, and nearly chokes on the words. “We all promised to live by those words. A mage does not need blood magic for protection, Teryn, as I demonstrated with your mentor here. You allowed yourself to become exactly what they feared.”

Teryn averts his eyes. “I never meant for it to go so far.”

But intentions rarely matter, as Bethany has learned so well over the years. Tears sting at her eyes, but she doesn’t let them fall. She looks at the mages in front of her, the shambles of the family that they’d worked so hard to build together. A group who Bethany once thought would be a beacon of hope, a shining example of the best that mages had to offer. Now they are the worst. If she leaves them here, they will be slaughtered by Sebastian’s thoughtless self-righteousness. There is no throne for the Inquisitor to sit upon in this small farmhouse, but judgement must be passed all the same.

Back straight and voice sharp as steel, she says, “These mages are hereby conscripted into the services of the Inquisition, where they will serve to right the wrongs they’ve committed under constant supervision until they are either released or dead.”

“You cannot—” Sebastian splutters, stepping forward to assert his princely dominance. “These mages are dangerous maleficarum! You would deny the people they murdered justice by stealing them from my own jurisdiction?” He turns to her sister, blue eyes glassy with fury. “Hawke, tell me you don’t agree with this.”

“My sister is the Inquisitor, Sebastian,” Hawke says evenly. “The townspeople attacked without cause and they met their fate accordingly. The man who provoked these mages into using blood magic was an agent of Corypheus, and is now dead. These mages are being taken under the watchful eye of the Inquisition where they might do some good. It seems to me that justice has been served on all counts. Now, will you concede? Or will you pursue vengeance until it destroys you, as Anders did?”

Sebastian pales gravely at that, eyes widened as if Hawke had reached out and slapped him.

“I know you don’t understand,” Bethany says quietly, “but they were my responsibility and I failed them. Now they will be my responsibility again. This is my duty.”

The prince of Starkhaven exhales heavily and shakes his head. He is displeased, likely beyond repair, but he leaves them without further argument. When he’s gone, Bethany feels the weight of it all so much that she fears she may simply sink to the ground. Instead, she tells Teryn to take her to the other mages in the cellar.

The ones who refused to engage in blood magic are huddled together in a corner of the food cellar, adults comforting frightened children. Ella springs to her feet the moment she realizes who they are and launches herself at Bethany, arms wrapped tightly around her neck.

“I knew you would come,” Ella says with such conviction that Bethany feels herself crack in two. She can’t speak for the sob stuck in her chest, so she hugs Ella as tightly as she can and shuts her eyes against the onslaught of emotion clawing at her heart.

xx

“I failed them,” Bethany says, staring out at the silhouette of the Frostbacks from the balcony of her quarters.

Josephine didn’t actually come here to listen to Bethany’s self-loathing. She’s here to brief her on whatever happened while Bethany was dealing with the mess in Starkhaven. But then she asked how Bethany was doing with such concern, and Bethany can still feel the sickness in her stomach from the horror of it all.

“They needed me and I left them. I should never have gone to the Conclave.”

“Bethany,” Josephine says, and there’s a hint of desperation to her voice as she reaches out to cover Bethany’s hand, “if you hadn’t gone to the Conclave, I—”

She stops herself mid-sentence, and Bethany hardly dares to breathe while she waits for the conclusion. But it never comes. Words have failed her. She falters and her face sets in a frown that seems almost pained.

“For what it’s worth, I think you did the right thing,” she says finally.

It’s no comfort to Bethany, who will never believe that as long as she lives, and who regrets the loss of whatever Josephine was going to say almost as much as she regrets Teryn’s fate.

xx

Hawke finds Bethany in her tent in the Exalted Plains. They’ve spent the day battling a massive wyvern in order to retrieve its heart for Vivienne for…something that she still hasn’t shared with Bethany, but has promised to explain upon their return to Skyhold. Bethany is aching and exhausted, attempting to clean the blood off of her breeches before she goes to sleep.

“Does the Inquisitor have a moment for her favorite sister?” Hawke asks with the winning smile of hers.

“Of course,” Bethany replies blithely. “Is she here somewhere?”

“Such sass, little Bethy. Can’t imagine where you learned it from.”

Hawke manages to sort of lean against the side of the tent, never content to sit still or rest for a moment. Bethany rolls her eyes at the impracticality of it.

“Don’t you ever sit down?” Bethany asks, though she already knows the answer.

“How can I possibly cause trouble if I’m always resting on my laurels?” Hawke says, but she acquiesces and takes a seat on the ground beside her sister. After a few moments of silence, she continues. “I wanted to check in and see how you’re doing. If there’s anything you might want to talk about…”

Bethany squints at her sister. Hawke has never been one to mince words, and the hesitance in her voice does not lend Bethany any confidence in whatever her motivations might be now. The last time Bethany remembers this happening, they were teens in Lothering and Hawke was awkwardly stammering her way through a discussion about sex after Bethany confessed that she might fancy one of the boys in town.

“I get the feeling that you have something _you’d_ like to talk about, Sister,” Bethany says, and Hawke digs at the ground with one of her daggers nervously.

“I should know better, shouldn’t I?” she says with a grimace. “Isabela mentioned something to me a little while ago. About you and Josephine.”

Bethany groans, cheeks flaring up immediately. “Of course she did.”

Is she truly that obvious? Does the whole world know about this by now?

“I didn’t actually believe her at first until I started paying attention. It seems to be more than just a passing fancy,” Hawke says carefully.

There’s really no satisfactory response to that statement, so Bethany says nothing at all. She exhales heavily and pulls her knees to her chest, resting her head on them. Her life is complicated enough without trying to navigate matters of the heart. Not that her heart seems to have any care about that.

Hawke reaches out to card her fingers through Bethany’s hair. “You know, Isabela and I have made a lot of mistakes. I’m too reckless and she’s too guarded. It took us nearly a decade to figure it out, and even then the timing was never perfect. But then I don’t think it ever will be for our family. It certainly wasn’t for Mother and Father, but they took their chances anyway.”

Bethany tries not to think about how much she misses them; remembers Father wrapping his arms around Mother’s waist from behind while they did the washing up together in the evening, and Mother’s soft kiss on the crown of Father’s head as he read them stories at night, all three children piled in his lap.

“I suppose my point is that in this life, nothing is ever guaranteed. Certainly not happiness. But if you find someone that makes you happy, you should try. Even if it’s not easy. Even if it terrifies you. The world has been so unkind to you, Beth. If Josephine makes the weight of it lighter, you should tell her.”

She turns her head to look at her sister and meets electric blue eyes soft with encouragement. It’s such a contrast to the conversation that she had with Leliana after Halamshiral, but Hawke somehow makes it sound reasonable. And she’s still not convinced that anything about her life these past months is right, but if nothing else, she’s grateful to have her sister by her side.

“This was much better than your sex talk back in Lothering,” Bethany says.

Hawke laughs and blushes and gives Bethany’s shoulder a little shove.

xx

They take tea after Bethany returns from Valence with Leliana. It’s late, but the ambassador is still up working by the time Bethany appears in her office. Josephine greets Bethany with a warm smile and moves to rekindle the fire that has long since gone out in the hearth.

“I can help,” Bethany offers, and sets the logs aflame with a flick of her wrist.

Josephine watches her as if Bethany’s magic is something to be fascinated by rather than scared of and Bethany blushes under the attention.

“What does it feel like?” Josephine asks softly, and Bethany stares for a moment, startled and unsure if she understands the question. “I’m sorry. That’s probably a very intrusive question.”

Bethany shakes her head. “It’s not,” she assures quickly. “It’s different for every mage, I think. My Dalish friend in Kirkwall told me once that it felt like all of the roots in the earth, strong and connected and grounded. But for me, it’s always felt molten, like fire in my blood. It doesn’t burn, but it’s an endless, insistent energy.”

“Is that why you specialize in elemental magic?”

“I suppose so,” Bethany shrugs. “My father taught me the flame first because it comes as effortlessly as breathing for me. Ice isn’t as natural, but it’s easier one you realize it’s simply the reverse of fire.”

Josephine seemingly forgets herself, takes Bethany’s right hand in her own without asking. Bethany allows it, breath caught in her chest as she watches Josephine trace the lines of her palm, then travel further up to caress the underside of her wrist. Her face is enraptured as she feels her way across Bethany’s skin, eyes impossibly bright in a way that makes Bethany’s heart flutter.

“You are always so warm,” Josephine murmurs. “Do you truly have fire in your veins?”

The question is rhetorical, Bethany thinks, and in any case, she doesn’t have an answer for that. All she knows is that Josephine’s presence makes her blood burn hotter, makes her hope for an end to all of this that affords her the chance to actually just rest for once. Makes her believe that it might even be possible.

Bethany thinks of Hawke and Isabela, and how they managed to forge something good out of the broken pieces of chaos that was their time in Kirkwall. If Hawke can make it work, then perhaps the only thing stopping Bethany is her own fear. And considering everything she’s seen and lived through, what is there truly left to fear after all of that?

“Josephine,” she says, and captures the ambassador’s wandering hands with her own. Josephine meets her eyes, startled by the interruption, and Bethany places a hand on her cheek, fingertips resting just behind her ear and tracing her sharp jawline. “There’s something I have to—”

There’s an insistent knock at Josephine’s door, and Bethany has just enough time to disengage before Cullen comes barging through, followed closely by Leliana and Morrigan.

“Ah, good that you’re both here,” he says, seemingly completely oblivious to their proximity or the blushes that have settled heavily on their faces.

Leliana and Morrigan have definitely noticed, though Morrigan has the grace to merely arch an eyebrow for a moment, while Leliana’s eyes flicker endlessly between Bethany and Josephine as she assesses every minute detail. Bethany, for her part, feels completely displaced, as if she’s been flung from an entirely separate universe and crash landed directly in this moment. The haze of her connection with Josephine lingers despite the moment having been broken up so abruptly, and the disconnect is making irritation creep up her spine.

“We’ve just received word from scouts in the Arbor Wilds,” Cullen presses on. “Corypheus’ men have been seen there. Apparently, they’re seeking out an old Elvhen ruin.”

The memory of entering the Crossroads through the eluvian has not left Bethany’s mind. She glances to Morrigan, who quickly takes over where Cullen left off, explaining that the chances of Corypheus finding something there that would help him achieve his goals of reaching the Black City as easily as the anchor would have are too great to ignore.

“We must move against Corypheus at once and intercept whatever it is that he’s looking for before he gets to it,” Cullen urges.

There’s no need for discussion. The duty of the Inquisition calls, and Bethany must answer. She nods her agreement and Cullen leaves at once to begin organizing a plan for troops to move into the Wilds as quickly as possible.

Things shift quickly and nothing is ever certain. A minute ago, Bethany was seconds away from telling Josephine how she feels about her and thinking that perhaps they might have a future together. Now, reality has arrived like a sharp slap in the face—they will leave for the Arbor Wilds in a matter of days and there is a strong possibility that Bethany will come face to face with her old foe once more. And if she does? There’s a chance that she might be victorious; she’s faced Corypheus and won before. But there’s also a chance that she will fall. And what cruelty is that, to ask Josephine for her heart if she will only break it by dying days later?

Bethany glances to Josephine one last time, regret sinking in her stomach like a stone, before she leaves the office.

“Inquisitor,” Leliana says, falling quickly into step beside her as Bethany stalks toward her quarters. She waits until they’ve closed the door to the stairwell behind them before she continues. “About Josephine…”

Bethany scoffs gracelessly, nearly choking on the sound as it leaves her throat. “I remember what you said. There’s no need to reinforce the idea.”

“Actually, I wanted to apologize,” Leliana says with chagrin, which causes Bethany to stall outside the door to her chambers. “It was not my place to interfere. When you came with me to Valence, you helped me to remember a part of myself that I thought to be long dead. It is hypocritical of me to think warmly of reconnecting with my love while discouraging you from finding that same comfort in Josephine.”

Her words are like a knife to Bethany’s heart, but she allows each one to numb her until she feels cold.

“You were right,” she says. Leliana doesn’t often allow herself to be surprised, but her eyebrows nearly disappear under that ever-present hood of hers. “I didn’t ask to be the Inquisitor, or the Herald, or even to have this Maker-forsaken anchor on my hand, but it is my fate regardless. And you know as well as I do that people with titles like mine aren’t long for this world. Josephine deserves more than someone who will likely be no more than ashes before we even get the chance to truly be together.”

“You have so little faith in yourself? In the Inquisition?” Leliana asks incredulously.

“I have more faith in the persistence of our enemies,” Bethany says icily. “I should go. I need to prepare for the trip ahead.”

Leliana’s eyes are narrowed as Bethany opens the door to her quarters, but she says nothing further. Bethany closes the door behind her and sinks against it, releasing a heavy breath that tastes of bitter misery.

xx

The skies open up a torrential downpour for the next two days. Rain pounds on every available surface, pattering at windows and turning stone paths into death traps. The courtyard might as well be a pond at this point. The castle has become overcrowded with occupants who seek shelter from the storm, and none of it has done anything to improve Bethany’s mood.

In an attempt to see that their departure is not delayed any more than necessary, Bethany sets herself to helping with the preparations. Unfortunately, the work indoors is all but completed, which merely leaves the dirty job of loading up carts and horses with supplies. Still, for once in her life, she’s happier to be out in the misery of this weather for the sake of not having to run into a body everywhere she turns inside the castle.

She’s been at this for hours now, traveling between storeroom and stables with armfuls of supplies. There are a few brave souls who are assisting her, but Bethany has ordered them all to stay out of the rain. She’s being foolish of course—if she catches cold, she’ll be of no use to anyone, but that logic holds little value to her right now. Her cloak is soaked through with rain, hair plastered down to her head, and she’s long since resigned herself to the slosh of water pruning her toes inside her boots.

En route to the storeroom for the hundredth time, there’s a muffled shout that can just barely be heard over the din of the rain. Bethany glances up to find the source, but only sees the familiar flash of blue and gold at a distance. Josephine is running towards her at a near full sprint, and Bethany feels panic rising, worrying first that something horrific has happened, and second that Josephine will surely fall and injure herself if she doesn’t slow down.

But she doesn’t slow down. She runs full tilt through every puddle, mud splashing up to ruin her stockings and skirt while her blouse darkens with rain. It’s only at the last second that Bethany realizes that she isn’t actually going to stop, and she plants her feet just as Josephine crashes into her, hands on either side of Bethany’s face as their lips meet. For a second, Bethany feels too dumbstruck to respond before the warmth of Josephine’s body seeps into her bones and jolts her into action. The breath leaves her lungs in a rush as she grips Josephine’s waist and pulls her close.

Bethany can’t remember ever feeling quite this desperate in her entire life. She holds onto Josephine as though the ambassador is the only thing keeping her from falling directly through the earth, then thinks that there’s probably a lot of truth in that. The kiss is never-ending. Bethany leans into it, adding more pressure and moving impossibly closer. Josephine makes a noise in the back of her throat that ignites a fire in the pit of Bethany’s stomach and nearly makes her forget that she is soaked through and frozen.

They separate with gasping breaths, Josephine’s hands smoothing over the wet tendrils of Bethany’s hair. Their foreheads rest together as they share the same air, and Bethany searches Josephine’s eyes (same color as the sky, but brighter; so much brighter) for some explanation to all of this.

There is no sense trying to speak over this weather, so Josephine merely takes Bethany’s hand and leads her quickly into the castle, winding through the kitchens and up stairwells until they’re standing in Bethany’s room without having been seen in this state of disarray by too many people. Not that she thinks Josephine would have cared by this point, otherwise she wouldn’t have catapulted herself into Bethany’s arms in the middle of the courtyard.

Bethany lights the fireplace with magic and they stand in front of it, hands still linked as they try to gather warmth from the flames. Now that she’s out of the rain, she’s deeply regretting her decision to stay in it for so long, but she has plenty of nervous energy to expend and she puts it towards a bit of magic for warming and drying them both. Josephine steps closer, seeking the heat, or perhaps she merely wishes to be close for the sake of it. Her hands find Bethany’s hair again, as if she can’t stop touching now that she’s finally allowed herself the luxury of it. She leans in for another kiss, sweeter this time, in a way that leaves Bethany dizzy by the time she pulls away.

“Leliana told me about your conversation the other night,” Josephine says when they part. If Bethany wasn’t so undone by their kiss, she would be rolling her eyes at this revelation. Of course Leliana interfered. “Bethany, I think of little else besides the warmth of your eyes and the heat of your skin. The sound of your voice brings a joy to me that I scarcely imagined I would experience since the Conclave. I know that this is sudden and improperly out of order, but my heart yearns for you whenever you are away, and it refuses to rest when you are near.”

Her fingers skim the edges of Bethany’s face, nails igniting goosebumps across Bethany’s body in their wake. Her heart pounds loudly in her ears, yet she thinks no sound in the world could drown out Josephine’s voice right now.

“I am not so naïve as Leliana would like to believe,” Josephine continues willfully. “I know full well the danger we face. I understand what it means to care for you. But I could not let you leave here without telling you this. Regardless of the risk, I want you to know that I want nothing more than to be with you, even if this is all we get to have.”

There have been so many moments over the past months where Bethany thought to tell Josephine about how she feels, so many wasted or interrupted opportunities that have been lost to time. She knows now that none of them could ever have been as perfect as this, drenched and nearly shivering in her room while Josephine fills her heart and soul with every precious word. Nothing that Bethany has to say can possibly compare, but there’s only one thing on her mind anyway.

“I was just going to tell you that I love you,” Bethany murmurs, “but yours was much better.”

Josephine’s blinding smile has a magic all of its own. “There are no words I wish to hear more,” she replies.

They meet in the middle, breathless kisses turning desperate and needy almost instantly. The fire inside of Bethany roars to life as she pushes the vest from Josephine’s shoulders. There is nothing proper about this, and Bethany wouldn’t even know proper courting etiquette if she slipped and fell on it, but Josephine seems to have little care for that. She works on disrobing Bethany like she’s already done it a hundred times while Bethany throws pin after pin from Josephine’s hair until it is finally, blessedly cascading over her shoulders, thick and dark and practically begging for her to sink her fingers into it. Josephine groans at the action and they tumble into bed together, all clothing discarded in haste.

Josephine is all claws—down her back, at her neck, across her ass, and on the underside of her thighs—and hot gasps at Bethany's ear that makes her stomach churn pleasantly with each new sound. She gives every bit as good as she gets, pinning Bethany to the bed until she’s nothing but hoarse cries and boiling blood, burning hotter and hotter until she breaks. They tangle until the sweat cools on their skin, bodies fitted to one another as lungs and hearts slow.

“I shall never tire of feeling the heat of you,” Josephine declares, voice low as she draws soft, lazy lines up Bethany’s back with the tips of her nails. The movement makes Bethany shiver in the best possible way.

“I shall never tire of _you_,” Bethany says simply.

She might have meant to say more, but her face is buried in Josephine’s neck and the smell of her is exquisite—perfume and scented oils in her hair and sweat and the lingering scent of her pleasure. It sets heat in Bethany’s belly again. Her hand drifts down between Josephine’s thighs, and all it takes is a sharp inhale from Josephine before they’ve started all over.

Some time later, when they’ve thoroughly exhausted themselves for the time being and are dozing comfortably in each other’s arms, there’s a knock at the door. Bethany is loathe to leave the warmth of the bed and the security of Josephine’s embrace, but they’re still in the middle of a war and she is still the Inquisitor. With a dissatisfied groan, Bethany rolls out of bed and dons a robe to answer the door.

No one is there, but someone has left a tray of food on the floor in front of her quarters. She hadn’t actually realized how hungry she was until just now, and she quickly picks up the spread and carries it to the bed where Josephine waits. The ambassador happily starts picking at some of the cheese and bread, while Bethany takes a moment to read the note that has also been left on the tray.

_Sweetness,_

_A little Jenny told me you were seen headed towards your room with a certain Antivan in tow. Figured you’d need some fuel for your fire. Do have fun. I’ll be waiting to hear all of the dirty details on our next trip._

_Love,_

_Bela_

Bethany teeters between embarrassment and appreciation for her friend. She will undoubtedly never hear the end of this. But as she glances over at Josephine, looking gorgeous with her bright eyes and smile like a warhammer to the chest while she munches on some grapes, Bethany thinks she’s perfectly okay with that. Not much of a trade off for the experience of having the woman she loves in her bed.

xx

“Do you think we get some kind of reward for killing Corypheus again?” Hawke asks. They’re walking through the main hall at Skyhold on their way back from the war room. “Is there some sort of frequent enemy discount for the next time he decides to show up and ruin all the fun.”

“Hawke, if that thing shows up again after we kill it, I’m leaving you and sailing to a new continent,” Isabela says as they pass by the table she’s perched on, discussing something with Leliana. The spymaster’s mouth quirks up in a small smirk.

“Isabela, love, if the past decade hasn’t taught you that you’ll never be rid of me, then I fear there’s no hope for you,” Hawke quips, and Isabela merely rolls her eyes.

They walk slowly towards the front of the room where the imposing throne sits, facing the Inquisitor’s subjects. It’s not a seat that Bethany has enjoyed sitting in.

“I suppose we have to actually defeat Corypheus before we can wonder about what comes after,” Bethany says. There’s been a tangle of nerves in her stomach for days now, the anticipation of an end, though she has no idea what that will look like or if she’ll even live to see it. The mana in her blood itches, anxious.

Hawke perches casually on the arm of the throne, looking more at ease there than Bethany ever will. She turns a smile in Bethany’s direction, all lazy reassurance. But Bethany knows better. Hawke’s worry is evident in the way she grips absently at the daggers on her belt, as if she expects their enemy to appear at any second.

“This is just one more fight for us, Bethy. Just like all of those nights we spent in Kirkwall. Piece of cake.”

“Do you think it’s normal for two sisters to have done so much fighting together?” Bethany asks, then wonders what exactly she thinks the alternative should have been. Can she imagine herself and Hawke in complementary dresses, curtsying to Kirkwall nobility and entertaining people with idle gossip and thinly-veiled insults?

“I’m afraid you lost me at ‘normal’, Sister,” Hawke replies. “I think we left normal somewhere around the time that a dragon witch saved us from darkspawn.”

“And now her daughter will do the same,” Bethany says with a touch of wonder, remembering how truly amused Flemeth had been to see her again in the Fade.

She worries for Morrigan, for the unknown consequences of what that Well may do to her down the line. Morrigan swore that she was willing to pay the price without even knowing what the true cost was. Now she’s bound to the will of her mother, and her son has had the old god soul stripped from him as well.

“I do love it when things come full circle,” Hawke grins, then suddenly becomes a bit more serious. “Whatever happens, Beth, know that I’m proud to fight by your side.”

Bethany takes her sister’s hand and squeezes it. There’s little need for words like the ones she spilled the night Meredith tried to kill them all. Hawke already knows. There’s no one else Bethany would rather have with her at the end of all of this, regardless of the outcome.

Hawke smirks at something behind Bethany, and Bethany turns to find Josephine approaching with a shy smile that makes Bethany’s stomach flutter.

“Good day, Champion,” she says with a small incline of her head, and then to Bethany: “Inquisitor, might I steal you away?”

“Far be it from me to stand in the way of true love,” Hawke says unprompted, and both women blush at that. “Go on, you two. I’ll see that no one interrupts you. Unless Corypheus comes for dinner, in which case it’s only right for Bethany to come play the gracious host.”

Bethany frowns at her sister, earning her a soft chuckle, but allows Josephine to pull her off towards the Inquisitor’s quarters. In Bethany’s room, they stand at the balcony and watch the sun set over the Frostbacks, Josephine pressed against Bethany’s back with her arms tied loosely around Bethany’s waist.

“We’re nearing the end,” Josephine murmurs, voice laced with melancholy and trepidation. “I wish…”

She trails off, voice choked with emotion, but there’s no need for her to finish. Bethany already knows every word. _I wish things were different. I wish we had more time. I wish we had known sooner. I wish you didn’t have to go._

Bethany has spent half of her life wishing for things to be different than what they are, but she’s long since learned to be grateful for what she does have: an army that stands behind her, a sister that would do anything for her, a group of companions and advisors she would trust with her life, and a woman far beyond her wildest imaginings who loves her, who wants her to return safely.

She turns in Josephine’s arms and kisses her until the distress on her face melts away, until she’s sighing into Bethany’s mouth, foreheads touching after they break apart.

“Since I woke with the anchor on my hand, my only thought has been survival,” Bethany tells her. “I never thought to actually find happiness, as well. I will come back to you, if the Maker is willing.”

“I will pray for nothing else, my love,” Josephine sighs. “I wish to spend the night here with you, if that sounds agreeable.”

“Yes please,” Bethany smiles. “I can’t possibly spend one more night drinking that swill at the tavern with Isabela and Varric.”

“It is quite distasteful,” Josephine agrees with a frown. “Perhaps we could weaponize it somehow?”

“It’s already a weapon, if you ask Dorian,” Bethany says, and Josephine cracks a smile at that.

Bethany leads them inside and has Josephine sit at the vanity while she removes the pins from her hair, carefully untwisting the braid until it falls down her back in long waves. She runs her fingers through the thick tresses, massaging at Josephine’s scalp to relieve the tension there. Josephine exhales heavily and tips her head back, eyes closed as Bethany gently brushes through her hair. It’s an unhurried affair, a lazy ritual that Bethany allows herself to get lost in, with the heady scent of Josephine’s perfume drifting up to meet her at each stroke of the brush. She doesn’t know how many days they have before they will have to face Corypheus, but for now, they have all night. They will make it last. They will make it be enough.

After, they sit on the settee in front of the fireplace, Josephine’s head on Bethany’s shoulder as her fingers trail invisible lines across Bethany’s wrist and palm. They trade slow kisses that turn hot in an instant before they slow again. Bethany feels so light that she thinks she could fly right out of the window like one of Leliana’s birds. She forms a block of ice in her hands and shapes it into a flower with her will just to hear Josephine’s gasp of delight. Josephine tells her about the docks in Antiva City, every little detail that makes her heart ache for home, and Bethany wonders if they might visit sometime after all of this is over.

They retire to bed, and as the fire burns low in the hearth, the one in Bethany’s belly ignites anew. She kisses Josephine’s body until there’s not an inch left unexplored. Josephine drags Bethany to her and they cling to one another, hands reaching and stroking in tandem until they are gasping and crying out against each other. They stop only for a few moments to catch their breath before they begin again, heat building between them until they both feel as though they might combust, their thirst for each other unquenched for quite some time.

When they finally fall away, boneless and damp with sweat, Bethany curls into Josephine’s side and thinks that maybe she could do this forever if the Maker allows it.

xx

In the end, there’s nothing but rubble and ash and a broken orb at Bethany’s feet. Solas laments its loss, thanks her for being a good friend, and then disappears.

They are injured, but whole. Morrigan took the worst of it, having fallen out of the sky in dragon form. Hawke and Cassandra support her as she quips that she can’t believe they actually made it. Looking around at her bruised and bloodied companions, the wreckage of their battle, Bethany can’t either. She spent so much time figuring out how to get here, how to _not die_, that she never took a moment to consider what comes after.

“Let’s go home, little sister,” Hawke says, and Bethany’s heart violently aches for the sight of Josephine.

Isabela fits an arm around Bethany’s waist and they begin the long trek back to Skyhold. It takes several days, and by that time Scout Harding has already sent a raven announcing their arrival. They enter the gates to an honor guard in full salute and a roaring crowd, each person clamoring to see, touch, congratulate the Inquisitor and her team.

“Now this is the kind of reception I deserve,” Isabela says, and Hawke looks like she’s truly never been more in love.

Ella appears from the masses, launching herself into Bethany’s arms with a relieved sob; although she’s exhausted and so sore she can barely move, Bethany welcomes the weight of her. Teryn approaches, but keeps his distance. He offers Bethany a nod, and Bethany smiles in return. Beside her, Morrigan is holding Kieran at her waist, eyes closed tightly as she presses her face to his hair.

Varric taps at Bethany’s elbow, stealing her attention from Ella’s relieved crying. “I think someone’s waiting for you, Sunshine,” he says, pointing to the figures who stand on the stairs above them.

Josephine is front and center. Bethany can see the smile stretched across her face all the way from here, and her heart beats out of time at the sight of it. She presses a kiss to Ella’s cheek and promises to find her later before beginning the ascent to meet her advisors.

When she crests the platform that they stand on, they bow to her. Their pride is evident in the quirk of Leliana’s lips, the straightening of Cullen’s back, and the tears in Josephine’s eyes. Bethany feels her own eyes water, too, overwhelmed by the weight of how much she loves them all. Josephine glances sheepishly at Leliana, who merely widens her smirk, before stepping forward to wrap her arms around Bethany’s neck.

“I knew you would be victorious, my love,” she whispers against Bethany’s throat.

“I had someone to come back for,” Bethany replies, and Josephine holds her tighter.

Over her shoulder, Leliana’s eyes sparkle and she inclines her head in approval. Cullen offers her a small smile, but quickly becomes distracted at the sight of Scout Harding below. She smiles and his face turns an awful shade of red. Bethany laughs and thinks that no matter what the future holds after this, it will be perfect as long as she has these people by her side.

xx

Bethany has never minded traveling by ship. On the trip from Gwaren to Kirkwall, Hawke had been so sick that she’d practically slept the whole way through. Bethany enjoys the smell of the sea and the routine of the sailors working around her.

Still, nothing compares to the sight of Josephine standing on the deck in a light dress, hair whipping with the breeze as she looks out over the ocean at the outline of the docks on the Rialto Bay. Bethany’s heart squeezes and she is powerless to stop herself from approaching, hand curving around Josephine’s waist. Josephine turns to her, smile as dazzling as the sunlight glinting on the water.

“I told Isabela once that I wasn’t sure I’d like to live in Antiva,” Bethany says, and Josephine’s brow furrows in a deep frown as if she can’t fathom the idea. “To be fair, the way she described it, I thought for sure that I would be assassinated by my spouse’s lover.”

Josephine tsks. “There’s far more to Antiva than Crows and affairs. I promise you’ll love it here. Of course, if you’re having doubts…”

“No,” Bethany says firmly, and soothes her with a kiss. “I want to be with you. It doesn’t matter where we go.”

The smile returns to Josephine’s face and she reaches for Bethany’s left hand, finally free of all ancient magic. Solas is a liar and a traitor, but he was good for one thing in the end. He removed the anchor from her hand and saved her life, even as she swore through gritted teeth that she would find a way to stop him, whatever the cost. Of course, that task is in Leliana’s hands now—the new Divine will use her agents to find allies against Fen’Harel. In the meantime, Bethany finally gets the opportunity to choose her own path.

“I share the same sentiment,” Josephine says, tangling their fingers together. “Mamma and Papà are anxious to meet you. And Yvette hasn’t stopped talking about you since the Winter Palace, of course.”

In truth, Bethany is nervous. It’s been a long time since she’s been part of a large family. She misses her parents desperately, and knows that they would have loved Josephine every bit as much as she does.

There’s also the question of what she will do when she gets to her new home. Bethany never thought she would see the day when she would be able to live openly without fear. Now, by the decree of Divine Victoria, she’s able to live freely as a mage. She thinks of her time in the Circle; regardless of how poorly that ended, she enjoyed being a teacher and passing along her father’s wisdom. With the College of Magi growing stronger each day, she may have an opportunity to do it once more.

“You know,” Bethany says, glancing out at the harbor that’s fast approaching, “when we were in Halamshiral, Cassandra was convinced that I was going to ask you to marry me.”

“Oh?” Josephine says delicately, valiantly attempting to school her expression. “Why did she think that?”

“Something Varric told her, of course,” Bethany replies with a light laugh.

Josephine’s face remains painfully impassive, though Bethany knows that it’s killing her. “And what did you say to that?”

Bethany reaches to brush a lock of hair behind Josephine’s ear, fingers gently tracing the shell of it. She gazes into Josephine’s sparkling grey eyes, feels that familiar flutter in her chest and thinks she will never tire of it.

“I told her that I would be lucky to marry you, and an idiot not to ask.”

The smile that blooms on Josephine’s face is enough to leave her breathless, but the kiss that follows steals whatever remains.

“Rest assured, my love,” Josephine murmurs against her lips, “that _I_ am the lucky one.”

“Perhaps it isn’t luck at all,” Bethany muses, and kisses Josephine again as they sail ever closer to their new home.

**Author's Note:**

> listen. _l i s t e n_. i have literally a lifetime's worth of things to say about bethany as the inquisitor. has there ever been a character more perfectly suited to this role? i don't think so. i could write a novel about all of my headcanons for every single interaction she would have with every single character, and every decision she would make. i dare you to find me on tumblr and ask me about it. alas, this was a story about josephine and bethany, so i ended up trying to keep the outlying stuff limited so that it didn't turn into a petit novel.
> 
> i know that the romance arc for josephine with the whole dueling business is just so perfectly suited to her character, but i have seen that quest rehashed a thousand times in fanfiction and didn't care to do it myself. i couldn't see bethany dueling otranto anyway. i believe that these two would take absolutely forever to get their shit together because there's no way bethany would ever flirt with anyone as outrageously as the inquisitor flirts with josephine. but barring the inclusion of a duel, what could possibly be more dramatic than josephine bounding through the rain at top speed to kiss someone senseless? seemed like an appropriate substitution.
> 
> also, there is no question in my mind that hawke would have stuck around skyhold for an inquisitor bethany, and isabela would have sooner set her armada on fire than let bethany go through that struggle alone, hence their constant inclusion in this story.
> 
> and finally, bethany does not lose her arm to the anchor because solas is literally a god who should be able to remove it without severing a limb and bethany has been through enough already jesus.
> 
> anyway, that's all i have to say about this for now. hopefully this did both the romance and the idea of beth!quisitor justice.


End file.
